Special Order - An FF8 Bakery AU
by Dee Moyza
Summary: It's only been two years since Quistis opened Qake, a boutique bakery in Dollet. But with the development of a megaresort nearby, business at the bakery has slowed down considerably, and Quistis' livelihood is in danger. The arrival of a quirky, energetic heiress in town might just turn things around – if she doesn't drive Quistis crazy first!
1. Qake

_(Disclaimer: As a work of fanfiction, the creation of this piece does not imply ownership of the Final Fantasy franchise, its characters, or any affiliated intellectual property.)_

* * *

The streets of Dollet were deserted at this early hour, the streetlights wrapped in a mantle of fog. Quistis covered the half-mile between her home and the bakery at a brisk pace, alert to movements in the shadows, a small folding knife nestled in her palm. She'd never had to use it, thank goodness; Dollet was a relatively peaceful town, but she'd heard enough horror stories about other cities to take extra precautions regarding her safety. On this morning, the only other living creatures she saw were the stray cats prowling the alleys, searching for food and enforcing their territorial boundaries.

Nevertheless, she was relieved to enter the bakery and lock the heavy door behind her. She turned on the lights and surveyed the kitchen, the stainless-steel surfaces shining in the fluorescent glow, the bowls and utensils standing ready in their respective storage spaces. She put away her belongings and got to work, cleaning and sanitizing the worktops and supplies before starting on the day's first batch of cupcakes.

Growing up, no one would have figured her for a baker. Even she hadn't envisioned this future for herself. But, in taking on kitchen duties during her final years at the home for orphaned girls in which she was raised, she discovered not only that cooking was its own science, and thus appealed to her logical mind, but also that she had a knack for it. Released from the orphanage when she turned eighteen, she pursued her newly-found passion, funding her culinary and business studies by working in kitchens at various restaurants and hotels in the area.

Two years ago, armed only with a modest amount of savings, an abundance of cautious optimism, and a solid business plan, she opened her own bakery. She called it Qake, a play on her first initial that had seemed very clever at the time. Though she cringed now at this testament to her youthful narcissism, she had amassed a sizable enough clientele in the meantime to make a name change counterproductive. Qake it remained, then, and she could look forward to explaining its pronunciation to some confused tourist at least twice a week, almost all of whom insisted on pronouncing an absent "u".

But perplexing names did not matter in the kitchen, in these small hours of the morning. Each day, she arrived several hours before her employees to bake the first batches of cupcakes on her own, quietly measuring ingredients with precision, mixing batters and fillings and frostings, and timing the baking process to the second. These hours passed quickly, and soon she heard her employees approaching, opening the door and shuffling in a few minutes before five.

"Mornin', Quistis," said Zell, his loud voice echoing off the walls. "What do you need me to get started on? Need any heavy lifting done?"

Zell had grown up across the sea in Balamb, and learned to cook at his mother's side. A stocky, energetic young man, he was surprisingly intuitive in the kitchen, and the delicacy with which he decorated cakes and cupcakes was matched only by the effortlessness with which he slung massive bags of flour over his shoulder.

"No heavy lifting right now, Zell," Quistis answered, "but I will need you to get started on today's cakes: Coffee Crumble, Triple Lemon, Dollet Decadence, and Sweet Dream. Start with the Coffee Crumble, and leave the Decadence for later; it's usually too rich for the early-morning crowd."

"I'm on it!"

Quistis nodded and looked up at the young lady who'd followed Zell inside. Emmy was very quiet, with a background in library science rather than food preparation. She'd applied to work at the bakery on the recommendation of the owner of the bookstore down the street, who couldn't afford to hire her at the time, but assured Quistis that Emmy was hardworking and a quick learner. Emmy immediately demonstrated these qualities by becoming a deft decorator and chief arranger of the display case, as well as tending to the customers. She was lighthearted and courteous, and had a unique talent for gauging customer tastes, suggesting several seasonal flavors that ended up being very well-received.

She also seemed to harbor a secret attraction to Zell, to which – thankfully, for the operation of the bakery – Zell seemed oblivious. Emmy pulled her apron over her head and smiled shyly at Quistis, asking what she needed to do this morning.

"You can get started on the toppings and fillings for the cakes. We'll need vanilla and raspberry buttercreams, lemon curd filling, coconut-pecan filling, and chocolate ganache. As soon as I finish frosting these cupcakes, I'll help you out."

"All right." Emmy finished tying her apron and headed toward the refrigerator.

At seven o'clock, Quistis flipped the sign on the door and took up her station at the counter. She looked around the shop, at the pale pink wallpaper and the shiny tile floor, at the handful of tables and chairs arranged throughout, then put on her friendliest smile, ready to greet the first customers of the day.

•o•o•o•o•o•o•

The morning rush began around eight o'clock, as people stopped in for sweets and coffee on their way to work. Quistis noticed dour looks and grumbling among her regulars, particularly those who worked or owned businesses along the main street through town, and asked why.

"Main street's closed off for a few hours this morning," one of them told her, "for some kind of special event. It's all fine and dandy for whoever is celebrating, but that'll cut down on our business for the day."

"Besides," said another, "who in the world holds a special event on a Thursday morning?"

"That does seem incredibly odd," Quistis replied. "This is the first I've even heard about it."

"I didn't find out about it until yesterday evening, when a crew was setting up the barricades."

"Hopefully, it will be a short event. I can't imagine it will have many attendees."

"Yeah." The customer handed Quistis his money and picked up his order. "As long as it's over before noon, I don't think it'll do too much damage. But if I have to wade through crowds to go to lunch, someone's gonna get an earful."

Quistis turned to Emmy, who was refilling one of the coffee urns. "What about you?" she asked. "Have you heard anything about this celebration?"

"A little." Emmy finished her task, then fished her phone from the pocket of her apron. She tapped on the screen several times, swiped a few times more, then turned it toward Quistis. The image on the screen was a bright yellow flyer ringed with flowers, bearing the words "Hello Dollet!" in bold, curly script.

"Her name is Selphie Tilmitt," Emmy went on, "and she's really popular online. Her family owns some big corporation, but she didn't even know she was related to them until a little while ago. I think she mentioned that she bought a house here. I guess she just wants make her entrance in style."

"Narcissism knows no bounds," Quistis muttered, suddenly feeling much better about the self-indulgent name of her business. "I suppose she invited her online audience to this special event, as well."

"That's what this post says. The parade is set to begin at ten."

"Parade? Who in the world does she think –" Quistis broke off her sentence and turned around at the sound of the bell above the door. She smiled when she recognized Rinoa, the owner of the neighboring bookstore, and wished her good morning.

"Have you seen this?" Rinoa asked, shoving a newspaper toward Quistis, clearly not in the mood for pleasantries. "How dare she think she can just sweep in, with all that money built on pain, and expect this town to welcome her. Dollet is peaceful! We don't need someone here who caters to warmongers!"

As Rinoa stalked to the display case to look over the day's offerings, Quistis read the short article on page four of the _Dollet Daily Herald_. Apparently, Selphie Tilmitt was related to Rendel Barton, the founder and CEO of the Blue Dragon Munitions Manufacturing Corporation, who passed away several months ago. Mr. Barton had no children of his own to whom to bequeath his estate, and mentioned in his will a dear niece, with whom he had lost contact after having a falling-out with her mother. Based on the information Mr. Barton had gathered on her whereabouts, private investigators eventually tracked down the young woman, and awarded her a handsome inheritance that included homes in Deling City, Winhill, and Balamb, and enough money to support the population of those towns for over a decade.

"You see?" said Rinoa, pointing out her cupcake of choice to Emmy. "She can live wherever she wants to. Why does she have to come here?"

"I don't see what's so bad about that," Quistis said. "She's a popular online personality with some influence. Her arrival might be good for business. Since the Hyperion opened last summer, business has been very slow. I'm down to pretty much only my regulars, and as much as I appreciate them, I'm having trouble making a profit without the tourists."

"It's not her, specifically. It's what she stands for."

"Has she made that explicit?"

Rinoa slid the paper toward herself, scanned the article and pointed to a paragraph, in which Selphie was quoted as saying that finding out she was related to the founder of Blue Dragon felt like finding a missing piece to her personality. "It just makes sense," Selphie said. "All my life, I've been fascinated with stuff like that: the power, the explosions, the spectacle of it all. Of course I'm a Blue Dragon! It's in my blood!"

"I still don't see the problem," Quistis said.

"The problem is her attitude. 'Guns are cool, bullets are awesome!' It's like she doesn't understand how many people are killed or hurt or kept under dictatorial control by these things she loves so much." Rinoa pointed to the paper again. "The problem is right there: _blood_. Selphie Tilmitt's money is blood-stained money."

"As long as she doesn't establish dictatorial control here, we should be fine. Besides, Selphie Tilmitt's money is legal tender that is perfectly acceptable in exchange for cake."

"I know you're joking, but this is a serious subject." Rinoa accepted a cup of coffee from Emmy and waited for Quistis to ring up her order. "So I'm going to protest. _Someone_ has to stand up for what is good and decent."

"Protest? What about your bookstore?"

"Oh, Watts is in today. He'll keep things running smoothly until I get back. It'll only be a couple of hours, and if he needs help, Rosalie is on-call."

"I suppose you know what you're doing."

"Of course I do!" Rinoa turned to leave, but doubled back. "By the way, have you taken my suggestion into consideration? Angelo would love to get her morning snack here, too." She angled her head toward the window, through which a fluffy, friendly dog watched the activity inside, its leash tied to the large planter beside the door.

"Rinoa, you know I'd love to incorporate pet-friendly treats into the menu, but I simply can't justify the cost right now."

"People would buy them! I'm not the only dog owner who patronizes your bakery. You could call them 'pupcakes', and decorate them with little doggie treats! At least put out a survey, to see who might be interested."

Quistis smiled. "Now _that_ I can do. But I can't promise you'll like the results."

"I'm pretty sure I will. Don't underestimate the things people will buy for their pets."

Quistis sighed and shook her head. Rinoa was impulsive, but her heart was often in the right place. Regarding Selphie, however, Quistis disagreed with her stance. She hoped Selphie would not be swayed by Rinoa's tiny protest and the grumblings of the business owners along the parade route. An heiress with money to burn and a sizable online following would be a boon for the bakery, if Quistis could find some way to attract her attention. She briefly entertained the notion of sending Zell or Emmy to greet Selphie with a selection of cupcakes, but dismissed it as desperate. She had time to think, after all. If Selphie really was moving into a home in Dollet, and it wasn't all a publicity stunt, Quistis had plenty of time to push Qake into Selphie's peripheral vision.

•o•o•o•o•o•o•

Quistis collected plates and wiped down the tables, while Emmy stocked the display case in preparation for the lunchtime customers and Zell took his break in the kitchen. Quistis thought she heard Zell say something, but since he had a habit of arguing with the news anchors on television, she ignored it. He called her name again, louder this time, and she walked into the kitchen to see what he wanted.

"Yo, check this out," he said, pointing to the TV in the corner. The local news station was covering Selphie's arrival, which really did include a parade. A band in white uniforms was marching out of the shot, just as a small float covered with flowers and papier-mâché fairies rolled into view. Quistis crossed her arms and watched the spectacle unfold, feeling as if she had stumbled into a child's fever dream.

A troupe of dancers disappeared down the street, and the parade went quiet for a few moments. Then, the reporter's eyes widened, and she gestured to the other end of the road. The camera panned over, and Quistis let her arms fall to her sides and her mouth fall slack when she saw the tank approaching.

It was an authentic, decommissioned tank, as evidenced by the insignia of the Dollet army peeking through a shoddy – probably rushed – paint job. A Blue Dragon was painted near the front, and the entire vehicle had been festooned with fresh flowers. A young woman wearing a flower crown poked through the hatch at the top, alternately waving and flinging candy to the crowd below.

"Hello, Dollet!" she shouted. "I'm happy to be here! We're gonna have a blast! Booyaka!"

"Booyaka, indeed!" The reporter chuckled, catching a piece of candy. "This certainly is the most excitement Dollet has had in a while. Ms. Tilmitt seems to be a gregarious young lady who –" The reporter stopped and frowned, and sounds of a struggle could be heard behind the tank. The camera operator turned once more and zoomed in on a tussle among the crowd.

A policeman backed out from between several individuals, dodging a wildly swinging placard and trying to maneuver someone toward the curb. As the camera zoomed in closer, Quistis and her associates gasped.

"Blood-stained money, blood-stained money," Rinoa chanted, even as the policeman relieved her of her sign and pulled her hands behind her back. "We don't need your blood-stained money!"

"Well," said the reporter, an undercurrent of amusement in her voice, "I suppose not everyone was impressed. Perhaps that young woman didn't get a piece of candy. Reporting live from downtown Dollet, this is –"

Zell turned off the television, and he, Quistis, and Emmy stared at its darkened screen.

"Oh dear," Quistis sighed.


	2. Heiress

Who was Selphie Tilmitt?

Quistis sat in her apartment at the end of her peculiarly eventful day and asked that question of the online world. She was inundated with answers, most of them the same, echoing what she'd read in the newspaper. After some scrolling, she found Selphie's personal website, Taiga Chick, and clicked on the link.

"Taiga Chick is moving!"a banner across the homepage read, followed by a short article explaining why.

_Booyaka, everybody! If you are a regular visitor to Taiga Chick, you probably already know what's up, but for those of you who don't, I'm moving to Dollet! Why Dollet? Because! It's so pretty, and there are these really cool attractions and shops there, and it's WARM! Plus, it's just fun to say … is it Doll-et or Doe-lay? What are the people there called? Will I be a Dolletician? Hehe, vote for Selphie!_

_Anyway, even though I'm changing locations (and biomes – I guess I'm Temperate Deciduous Forest Chick now XD), I'm not leaving this website. You can still count on the quality content you're used to, and I'll never run out of stories about my Trabia. The only difference is, now I'll have stories from another place, too! Things will only get better around here!_

_Stay tuned!_

_Selphie :-)_

Quistis smiled. Selphie seemed pleasant and friendly, hardly the warmonger Rinoa feared she was. Still, Quistis felt a bit more investigating would be prudent, and clicked through to the content on Selphie's site. Taiga Chick was appropriately named, as it chronicled Selphie's life in the Trabia region. There was information about the area – its ecosystem, its history, and its people – some casual information about Selphie, and a sizable collection of videos and articles, many of which were humorous and no doubt accounted for Selphie's large following. There were sledding races, snowman-building contests, and an amusing little series called "Will It Sled?", in which Selphie tested out various items for their utility as a sled and offered her rating and comments on each.

Satisfied that Selphie was not a megalomaniacal heiress bent on establishing rule in Dollet, Quistis decided to close out of the webpage. But as she moved the cursor toward the corner of the screen, something caught her eye. It was a picture of young Selphie grinning at the camera, a thin braid hanging over each shoulder, a medal around her neck, and a rifle in her arms. "Throwback to when I won the under-16s at the Trabia Nationals!" the caption read. Quistis clicked on the picture and found it was filed under, among other terms, "guns".

This was getting interesting.

Pulling up all posts under that term, Quistis discovered that Selphie was a competitive shooter, with several awards and titles to her name. In addition to photos and videos from competitions, Selphie offered reviews of firearms and ammunition, tips for better shooting, instructions for cleaning and maintaining a variety of guns, and basic safety procedures. The final post in the list was a video titled "Welcome to Trabia," which appeared to have been recorded years ago. Quistis clicked "Play."

A younger-looking Selphie, bundled in a coat, hat, and scarf, bounced into view and introduced herself. She gave a quick tour of her village and the surrounding area, and then the video cut to Selphie shooting tin cans off of fence posts a good distance away. She turned to the camera with a wide smile.

"You're surprised I can shoot, right?" she asked. "Well, it's a Trabian thing! We learn to shoot almost right after we learn to walk. It's for survival.

"You see, even though we're connected online, it's still super-duper expensive to deliver things up here, so we Trabians just get our own food. One Snow Lion can feed a village for months! We need to protect ourselves, too. There are Snow Lions in the forests and Blue Dragons in the mountains, and if you've never seen an angry Mesmerize, you're really, _reeeally_lucky!

"But you have to be super-duper careful with guns, too. I'm going to make a video later showing how to stay safe, but don't go playing with these things, okay? Guns are tools, _not_ toys! It's a Trabian rule. Now, let's go visit Mrs. Englemann. She makes the _kee-yutest_ jewelry out of Mesmerize hair!"

Quistis stopped the video. That explained a lot. Selphie liked guns because she had grown up around them. To her, they were tools of survival, dangerous but necessary, and fun to operate, to boot. In this context, her excitement over tanks and military-grade weapons was similar to Quistis' excitement over top-of-the-line industrial ovens. Selphie wasn't necessarily violent, just familiar with firearms in a different way than most people.

Rinoa, on the other hand, had grown up in Deling City, the daughter of a high-ranking army officer. It was only natural that she would associate guns with violence and oppression. Quistis hoped that, if Selphie and Rinoa ever met face-to-face, they could find common ground through another topic, because the chasm between their stances on firearms was not easily bridged.

Quistis copied the link to the video and sent it to Rinoa, with a note stating it was for context. She wasn't sure whether Rinoa was even out of police custody yet, but Quistis hoped that when Rinoa saw this, she might soften her views on Selphie, and maybe even welcome her to Dollet. It was a long shot, but one worth taking. None of them could afford to alienate a potential customer. Not even Rinoa.

•o•o•o•o•o•o•

"Good morning!" Rinoa breezed into the bakery, a dreamy smile on her lips, any trace of yesterday's agitation vanished. "What delectable treats do you have for me – and not Angelo – today?"

"Well, aren't you chipper?" Quistis said, pointing to the day's menu. "I figured after the way your little demonstration ended yesterday, you'd be pretty upset."

"Oh, you saw that?" Rinoa studied the menu, then moved to the display case. "I don't suppose you also saw the officer who arrested me?"

"I must admit, that's not where my attention was focused."

"Then you missed out! He is handsome, the best-looking guy in Dollet! He's got this unruly brown hair that just won't stay under his hat, and the loveliest blue eyes I've ever seen." Rinoa sighed and pointed out her cupcake selection.

"Uh-oh," said Emmy, placing the cupcake in a box, "has the long arm of the law snatched your heart?"

"I don't know about arms, but this guy has legs for days. The long legs of the law."

"Did any part of the law actually get around to charging you?" Quistis asked. She rang up Rinoa's order, then looked her in the eyes, frowning. "A criminal record could have major ramifications for your business."

"It was nothing! A citation and a small fine. Xu said detaining me was more trouble than it was worth, so – "

"Xu?"

"The police sergeant."

"You're on a first-name basis with the police sergeant?"

"Well, not exactly. But it was right there on her nameplate, and I was trying to be friendly, so … You know who's first name I'd really like to know? That officer's." Rinoa smiled again. "His last name's Leonhart, and Xu says he's new to the force and a stickler for rules. She says she doesn't think he should've even arrested me. Xu's such a nice lady."

"You think so only because things went your way. A person doesn't become a police sergeant by being _nice_."

"Oh, Quistis, what are you so worried about?"

"The state of the neighborhood." Quistis brushed an errant crumb from the cash register. "This little business district is like its own ecosystem. If one of us goes under, traffic slows down even more, and then we're all in very real trouble. We have to take care of each other. And ourselves."

Rinoa nodded. "I understand. But I would never do anything that would put Sant'Angelo Books in any real danger. Yesterday's charge was mild disorderly conduct. No one's going to avoid my shop just because of that." She brightened. "Oh, that reminds me, I have a promotional idea I'd like to run by you. I'll give you the details at lunchtime."

"I'm looking forward to it. By the way, did you get around to watching the video I sent you?"

"Yeah."

"And?"

Rinoa winced and looked away. "I guess I see where she's coming from. But that still isn't the whole issue. Right now, she's living like some kind of princess on money that was made largely from wars. I don't know if she even realizes that. Until I know how she spends it – if she tries to do some good, or just hogs it all – it's going to be real hard to change my mind."

"If you do see her around town, please try not to be confrontational," Quistis warned, then gave her a conspiratorial grin. "I know you're eager to see Officer Leonhart again, but I don't think causing trouble is going to endear you to him."

"Quistis is right," Emmy chimed in. "Stand-up guys don't like troublemakers." She ignored the other women's curious gazes and straightened the takeout containers on the counter. "If only they noticed us straight-arrow types, too," she added quietly.

"Well, I'm off!" Rinoa announced. "It's delivery day, and Zone will be in to help, so I've got to get there before he tears through the boxes looking for naughty magazines. He knows I don't sell that stuff!"

"Perhaps a cupcake might ease his inevitable disappointment," Quistis offered.

"Hah! Zone's kinda insecure about things. I think the pink wallpaper here would be enough to send him running."

"His loss."

"Absolutely! See you at lunchtime."

As the door closed behind Rinoa, Zell wandered in from the kitchen, wiping his hands on his apron. "Kitchen's ready to go for the midday batches," he said. "And what the heck was Rinoa so chirpy about?"

"She took a liking to the policeman who arrested her," Quistis explained, then thanked Zell for prepping the kitchen and headed back to start on the next batch of cupcakes.

"Now _that_ would be an unlikely couple," Zell muttered, then turned to Emmy. "Right?"

Quistis didn't catch Emmy's reply, but grinned to herself as she heard Emmy and Zell begin a lively conversation, punctuated by laughter. She tied her apron around her waist, readied her materials, and began baking, letting the rest of the world – with its heiresses and policemen and bottom lines – drop away for a little while.

•o•o•o•o•o•o•

"Why do I give twenty percent off when you only give fifteen?" Quistis looked at the coupons Rinoa presented her as part of a cross-promotional proposal.

"Because my items cost more," Rinoa said. "If you give fifteen percent off a cupcake, that's a negligible discount. And if I give twenty percent off of every book bought with this coupon, I'll never make a profit."

"But what about _my_ profits? Every gil counts, even with the bulk discount I get from the suppliers."

"You won't be selling _every _cupcake at a discount. This can be a limited-time promotion. Or a limited-time _recurring _promotion. Like, the first Saturday of each month, and the customers have to use the coupons within a week."

"That would be easier to handle, and to prepare for." A customer approached the counter, returning her plate and cup. Quistis thanked her and wished her a good day, then turned back to Rinoa. "But the issue remains: how will you get customers into either of our shops on that day?"

"I'm still thinking about that part. I've considered themed events, especially geared toward families. 'Summer Reading Made Fun,' 'Campfire Stories,' 'Make Your Own Picture Book.' Stuff like that." Rinoa's eyes lit up. "Hey, maybe I can order some of your cupcakes to draw people in!"

"I like that idea very much."

"At a discount?"

"The standard business discount."

"There's no 'really good friend' discount?"

"Sorry, but no."

Rinoa laughed. "It was worth a try. But really, this will be a great promotion for both of us! Now, what kind of cupcakes do I want?" She propped her chin on her hand to think, and Quistis began wiping down the vacant tables.

The little bell above the door tinkled, and before Quistis or Rinoa could turn around to acknowledge the customer, the customer announced herself by talking loudly into her phone.

"Okay, so here we are, Day Two in Dollet and I'm in the mood for something sweet!" she said. "I just stumbled across this cute little bakery called Quake, and it smells super delicious in here. I'll get back to you all to let you know what I find! 'Til later!"

Quistis' shoulders spasmed at the mispronunciation of her bakery's name, and the rest of her body tensed when she recognized Selphie Tilmitt. She smiled politely. "It's pronounced 'cake'," she said, as gently as she could.

"But it's spelled with a 'q'."

"Which is not followed by a 'u.' Welcome to Qake. How can I help you?" Quistis glanced at Rinoa, and saw her glaring at Selphie, tracking Selphie's movement from the door to the counter, probably looking for an indication of violence in every step.

"Let's see … what do you have here?" Selphie peered into the display case, leaning close and fogging up the glass with her breath. "These all look really good! I can't decide. What do you recommend?"

Quistis looked toward the kitchen. Emmy was very good at pairing customers with flavors they enjoyed, but she had just stepped out for her break. So Quistis recalled what she'd seen of Selphie's website, and combined this with the cheerful energy Selphie exuded now to hazard a recommendation.

"Our lemon-raspberry cupcake is very good," she said at last. "It's tangy, but with a hint of sweetness, thanks to a vanilla cream filling. It's perfect for a sunny day like today."

"Sounds good! I'll try that one, then."

"For here, or to go?"

"Here, definitely. I wanna get a feel for the place. Dollet is so different from where I grew up, it's like I've landed on another planet!"

"She probably has," Rinoa muttered, shrugging off Quistis' frantic gestures telling her to remain quiet. "So," Rinoa continued, louder, "you say you're new to Dollet. You wouldn't happen to be Selphie Tilmitt?"

"The one and only!" Selphie beamed, settling into a chair.

"I've heard about you. Your inheritance –"

"And I know who you are, too! You're that protester from yesterday."

Quistis grimaced and assumed a white-knuckled grip on the plate she was carrying to Selphie. She hadn't expected these two women to jump right into the issue that divided them, and she certainly hadn't expected them to do so in her shop. She worried that she might end up meeting Officer Leonhart today, after all, and not in a way Rinoa would appreciate.

"Um, yes," Rinoa said. "How did you recognize me?"

"You were all over the news. Plus, some of my followers sent me videos of what happened." Selphie looked up and smiled as Quistis set down her cupcake, but immediately turned her attention back to Rinoa. "What did you mean by 'blood-stained money?'"

Rinoa blanched. Quistis hovered nearby, holding her breath, waiting for Rinoa's response and Selphie's reaction. Rinoa had really done it this time.

"Well," Rinoa said finally, setting her jaw and looking for the world like a captain prepared to go down with her ship, "look at the nature of your uncle's business. Yes, Blue Dragon supplies people like you, who use guns as daily tools. It also supplies criminals who use guns to bad ends. But that's not what made your uncle rich. The big money isn't in individuals, it's in military forces. Blue Dragon supplied anyone who asked, and the longer the wars went on, the more money the corporation made. That's what I meant by 'blood-stained money.'"

Selphie looked down at her cupcake. "Yeah, I get what you're saying. But that didn't have anything to do with me, and it still doesn't. Uncle Rendel only left me his money and his property, not his business. I have no say in what Blue Dragon does."

"Yet you enjoy the profits."

"What am I supposed to do? Renounce it all? That won't fix anything! The money still has to go somewhere, and it'll probably end up in the hands of people who won't do _any_good with it."

Rinoa's eyebrows raised. "Good? I assume you're talking about more than flashy parades when you say that."

"Of course! It's true that I'm having lots of fun, now that I can afford to, but Uncle Rendel's fortune is way too much for me to spend in my lifetime. So, I'm finally able to give more than just pocket change to the people whose work I admire."

"Mm-hmm. And who might those people be?"

"The Moomba Rights Organization, the Snowflake Scouts, the International Orphans' Fund, the Chocobo Trust." Selphie counted each group off on her fingers. "Hold on, I have their cards in my wallet." She fished a bright yellow wallet decorated with chocobo silhouettes from her purse and produced a handful of colorful business cards, then fanned them out on the table, next to her yet-untouched cupcake.

Rinoa's eyes widened, and she picked up an orange card. "The Moomba Rights Organization," she read.

"Moombas are native to an island north of Trabia," Selphie explained, "but a lot of them get caught by trappers and sold as slave labor. The MRO investigates reports of Moomba abuse, rescues them when they can, and rehabilitates the rescues. They're very popular in Trabia, and the kids in school hold craft fairs to raise money for them. Now, I can give them a thousand times that much every month, and still have plenty left over!" She shrugged. "Buuut … if my _blood-stained money_is really that bad, I might have to reconsider."

"Wait, that's not what I –"

"I'm kidding, I'm kidding!" Selphie laughed. "I honestly don't care what you think about me, or my money. I'm gonna enjoy myself, and help out people when I can, and I think that's a pretty good way to live."

"I agree," said Quistis, smirking at Rinoa over Selphie's head. "It's your money, after all, and you seem to have found a balance between personal enjoyment and social responsibility."

Rinoa made a face at Quistis, then looked at Selphie. "Perhaps I may have judged you too harshly," she admitted. "I'm sorry."

Selphie grinned. "Don't worry about it!"

"But this had better be more than a game to you. Doing good is a commitment, and I hope you stick to it. I've got my eyes on you, Selphie Tilmitt."

"Great! I love attention."

Rinoa gaped at Selphie for a moment, then laughed nervously and excused herself.

"Wow," said Selphie, after she'd left. "Is she always that intense?"

"Not usually," Quistis answered. "But she has a passion for justice and empathy, and a few personal issues to sort out. She's actually very nice, but I think right now, you've confounded her. Give her a while, and she'll eventually settle down."

"No problem. I don't let stuff like that get to me, anyway."

"That's good to hear. Enjoy your cupcake." Quistis took her leave, but had not even made it to the register when Selphie let out a squeal.

"Ooh! Flippin' fudge muffins!" Selphie cried. "Where is that baker? Get them out here, now!"

Oh, dear. Now what? Quistis took a deep breath and approached Selphie. "I'm the baker," she said. "How can I help you?"

"This cupcake is amazing! I've never tasted anything so tangy and fluffy and sweet all at the same time. How many more do you have in the case? I'll take them all!"

Quistis' eyes widened, and she let out a surprised chuckle as she glanced over her shoulder to survey the display case. "We've got three left," she said, "and I'll certainly sell them all to you, but how about making it a half-dozen with some of our other flavors?"

"Great idea! Let me see what else you've got." She sprung up from her seat and started toward the case, but paused. "Oh, by the way, I don't think we had a proper introduction. Both you and your friend knew who I was – _naturally_ – but I never got your names."

"The woman you were talking to is Rinoa. She owns the bookstore a few doors down."

"Neato! I hope she doesn't mind me checking it out sometime. And you?"

"I'm Quistis Trepe." Quistis extended her hand.

"Pleased to meet you!" Selphie shook her hand and repeated her name several times. "Say, is that where the 'q' in Qake comes from? Very clever; I like it!"

Strawberry, caramel, and chocolate cupcakes rounded out Selphie's half-dozen, and she bounced up and down as she accepted the box from Quistis. "I'm sure I'm gonna love these," she said, then became serious. "Um, Quisty, I was wondering … I saw you also have some cakes here, and … um, do you take special requests?"

"It's Quistis. And yes, I do. Special orders must be submitted at least seventy-two hours in advance and agreed upon by both parties. Within those requirements, I'm happy to fulfill your request."

"Whoo-hoo! Next weekend, I'm having a party at my house. It'll be my official debut, with lots of music, fun, and, of course, sweets. And I think I've just found my go-to baker. I'll drop by with my request tomorrow. Thanks, Quisty, you're the best!"

Quistis began to correct her again, but thought the better of it and simply smiled and waved as Selphie left the bakery. She hadn't expected to attract Selphie's patronage so soon, and she certainly didn't foresee Selphie being so impressed with her offerings. Perhaps cupcakes were a rarity in Trabia, or perhaps the range of available flavors was limited there. Whatever the reason, Quistis had just landed the most lucrative client in Dollet without even trying. She began humming to herself as she wiped down the table Selphie had left, and wondered vaguely what kind of request she had in mind.

It was probably going to be something ostentatious, Quistis figured, coming from the woman who'd arrived in Dollet by tank. That was not Quistis' usual style, but it might be a fun change for the bakery. She was confident that she and her team could handle the request.

After all, just how eccentric could a single cake be?


	3. Almasy

"And the Dollet arch goes over here," Selphie said, pointing to a section of the large drawing she had unrolled across the counter in Qake. "A cluster of buildings, then a little winding road to my new house. And there's a teeny-tiny version of me, standing outside with my arms open, ready to give all my new neighbors a hug!"

Quistis blinked. She spread her hands across the drawing and looked at it once more. From a stand of fondant evergreens dusted with confectioner's sugar, to the sparkling rainbow bridge made out of sour fruit candy and flanked on each end by a pair of Blue Dragons, to a miniature version of Dollet, Selphie's cake design was extravagant, an edible – and embellished – recreation of her journey from Trabia. Quistis laughed nervously.

"This is an elaborate design," she said. "Very colorful, very creative."

"Thanks! I want this cake to honor where I come from and where I'm headed. I want this cake to jump out at people at my party. I want this cake to scream, 'Selphie Tilmitt!'"

"It certainly does. What are the dimensions of the cake?"

"Well, in order for everything to fit on here, and still be recognizable, I was thinking about … uh, ten feet long?"

"Ten feet! Selphie, how many people are you expecting at this party?"

"However many show up! I've issued an open invitation to my followers, and to everybody in Dollet. I want to get to know my neighbors."

Quistis sighed and rubbed her temples. "Selphie," she said slowly, struggling to keep her tone genial, "it's very hard for me to make a cake when I don't know how many people might want a slice. Can you give me a rough estimate of the number of people you expect to accept your invitation?"

"Hmm. My followers are scattered all over the world, so most of them can't come. And I'm positive not everyone in town will show up. Most people probably didn't even see the invitation on my website." Selphie chewed her lip, mentally calculating an estimate. "I think it's safe to say about five hundred guests, then."

"That's still a lot, but I can work with that. But a ten-foot-long sheet cake would be extremely difficult to transport. Do you mind if I suggest a slight alteration to your design, for that purpose?"

"… I guess."

"Great." Quistis grabbed a napkin from the dispenser at her elbow and a pen from the top of the register and sketched out a quick design, then turned the napkin around to show Selphie. "We have two four-tiered square cakes here, going from a sixteen-inch base to a ten-inch upper layer, with a twelve-inch sheet cake in between. This will serve five hundred people, and preserve the original intent of your design."

"Oh, I get it! One cake will be Trabia, the other Dollet, and the one in the middle is the bridge."

"Exactly."

"Quisty, you're a genius! This will look even better than I imagined. Hey, now we can even include mountains on the Trabia side, and maybe the communication tower on the Dollet side, and maybe –"

"I think the original design is lovely," Quistis quickly assured her. "You don't want to overcrowd the cake; then nobody will be able to see the little details you've already requested."

Selphie sighed. "Maybe you're right. Sometimes, I can get a little carried away."

Quistis only smiled. "You haven't told me what flavor you want, yet," she said.

"Lemon-raspberry," Selphie said without hesitation. "Those other cupcakes I bought yesterday were great, but lemon-raspberry is super-duper-_mega_-yummy! It's like eating sunshine!"

Quistis clapped a hand over her mouth to suppress a giggle at Selphie's superlatives, and played it off as a dainty cough. She and Selphie discussed pricing and scheduling, and Selphie skipped out of Qake smiling and humming to herself. Quistis rolled up Selphie's drawing, took it into the kitchen, then taped it along one wall.

"What in the world?" Emmy asked, tilting her head to look at the design. Zell joined her to investigate.

"Yo, what the …? Is this some kind of joke?" he turned to Quistis. "You can't be serious!"

Quistis crossed her arms and regarded them calmly. "Don't worry, I've made alterations to the design," she said, and watched Zell and Emmy relax. "But the decorations remain the same. This cake is due for delivery to Selphie's party one week from today, so we'll need to get started right now. We're going to make this happen."

"That Selphie lady's a hot dog short of a combo plate," Zell muttered.

"Perhaps, but we need her business. This order will give Qake a significant financial safety net for the off-season. So, don't think of it as catering to a silly heiress, think of it as investing in the future of the bakery, and in the future of your paychecks."

"Heh. Understood." Zell squinted at the drawing. "Now, if only I could understand these scribbles!"

•o•o•o•o•o•o•

Zell tended the register during the mid-morning slump, while Emmy replenished the display case, and Quistis painted scales on a Blue Dragon made of fondant. Selphie's party was three days away, and most of the fondant figures were complete. The real challenge lay in putting everything together, however, and Quistis had budgeted for overtime pay for both Zell and Emmy for the coming Saturday.

She heard the bell above the door ring, followed by a disgusted grunt from Zell.

"Ugh. What are _you_ doing here?" he asked the person who'd entered. "I thought you were too good for this place."

"I am," a man answered. "But I'm also intrigued by some rumors floating around. Aww, don't make that face, chicken-boy. I heard you guys actually had a good week, for once."

"I am not a _chicken_!"

"Could've fooled me. I mean, that _hair_ …"

"Can it, Almasy!"

Upon hearing the name, Quistis' stomach tightened. She set down the fondant and hurried to the front, removing her gloves along the way and stuffing them into the pocket of her apron.

"Ah, here she is!" the man said. "The lovely queen of _Quake_."

"You know very well how it's pronounced, Seifer," Quistis said, giving him her coldest stare. "You're not _that_ stupid."

Seifer flinched. "I don't recall establishing a first-name basis between us, Ms. Trepe." His expression lightened. "And I don't understand why you people are all so gloomy. No wonder your business is failing."

"Is there a reason for your visit, or did you simply decide to grace us with your insults?"

"You know I like to keep abreast of the com – _ahem_, I almost called you 'competition' – the _community _of small-business owners in Dollet. You all have your fingers on the pulse of the locals, and that's very handy information for my marketing team." He grinned. "And speaking of 'team,' allow me to introduce my associates, Raijin –" Seifer gestured behind himself to a large, tanned man holding a clipboard, then nodded to a petite woman with silver hair combed over one eye – "and Fujin. They are my directors of security and marketing, respectively."

Quistis offered Seifer's associates a curt nod each, then turned back to him. "Well, we're still operating," she said. "Now that you've seen that, I ask that you either state further business or leave. You're upsetting my employee."

"Your employee needs to grow a thicker skin. He had too many holes poked in this one to get that ugly tattoo."

"That's it!" Zell tore off his apron and flung it to the floor. "You want a fight, you got one! You're goin' _down_!"

Quistis grabbed Zell by the arm and pulled him back, inserting herself between him and Seifer. "Zell," she said quietly, "why don't you help Emmy with the fondant figures? We just have the Blue Dragons, and some of the buildings, left." She gently pushed him backwards toward the kitchen, listening to the air whistle through his flared nostrils. He finally relented, but not before making an obscene gesture toward Seifer.

"You got lucky today, Almasy," he said, then stalked into the kitchen. Quistis crossed her arms and set her jaw, then faced Seifer again.

"That guy's unstable," Seifer said. "How can you feel safe around him?"

"Zell is a very nice person and a hard worker, who doesn't take kindly to people antagonizing him," Quistis replied, "as I'm sure is the case for almost everyone. Now, tell me, Mr. Almasy, why are you really here?"

"Well, you know I've got my little birdies all over the place, and one of them whispered something very interesting to me the other day. Something about a celebrity in Dollet."

"Yes, Selphie Tilmitt. You must have seen her arrival; it was picked up by every news outlet in the area."

"Oh, I know who she is. I just didn't know what she _liked_. Apparently, she's fond of sweets, and parties, and … sweets."

"You're repeating yourself. I suppose you've said all you had to, then."

"Don't play dumb with me, Ms. Trepe. You know what I'm getting at."

"Then stop wasting my time and say it."

Seifer cocked an eyebrow. "Feisty, aren't we? I've been informed that you picked up a new, high-profile client. One certain Selphie Tilmitt. Is that true?"

"I don't see why that matters to you."

"You're getting defensive, so it must be true." Seifer shrugged. "I guess I have to congratulate you, then, Ms. Trepe. Hyperion missed out on that one." He held out his hand.

Quistis stared at it. "That's business," she said. "I'm sure Hyperion will survive."

"Of course we will. But now, things have gotten interesting around here. You've hooked a really big fish. But can you reel her in for good?"

"I'm sure I can." Quistis noticed Raijin gazing longingly at the display case. "I'm confident in the quality of my product. In fact, it looks like your associate would like some. What can I get for you, Raijin?"

"Huh? Oh, uh, n-nothin'," Raijin stammered under Seifer's glare. "I was just lookin' at these cupcakes, ya know, and – and how _ugly_ they are. Yeah, that's it. Ugly, ya know? Who'd wanna buy that?"

"Thank you for your critique. What would you suggest to make them more appealing?"

Raijin's face lit up, and Quistis wondered whether he'd ever been asked for his opinion before. "Oh, there's lots of stuff you could do," he said. "Maybe make some of 'em more manly, ya know, with little tanks and soldiers on 'em and stuff, and – _yeeowch_!" He bent down and rubbed his shin, and Quistis noticed Fujin wore a particularly satisfied smirk.

Seifer growled. "Enough of this. I'll hand it to you for catching Tilmitt's interest, but you can be sure you won't hold onto it for long. This quaint little bakery can't keep up with that heiress' squirrel brain. Hyperion can."

Quistis smiled politely. "So I guess you _do_ see me as competition, after all."

"No. Competitors put up a fight. After you lose Tilmitt's money, I can just steamroll you."

"But, for the time being, I have the upper hand. So, let the best among us win. Good luck, Mr. Almasy."

"Ms. Trepe, I hate it when people wish me luck. Luck has nothing to do with my success. So, save those words for a dipstick who really needs them, eh?"

"Very well, then." She looked him straight in the eyes. "Good luck, Seifer."

Raijin made a strange chortling sound, which became a cough, then a whine, as Fujin administered another swift kick to his shin.

Seifer scowled. "Raijin!"

Raijin rubbed his shin once more, then straightened. "Yeah, boss?"

"Add Ms. Trepe's business to the list."

"Sure thing!"

Fujin leaned toward Raijin, standing on tiptoes to peer over his arm at what he'd written. Then she turned to Seifer. "TIMETABLE?" she asked loudly.

A malicious grin crept across Seifer's face. "Three months," he said, his cyan eyes boring into Quistis. "Good luck, Ms. Trepe. You're going to need it." He straightened his tie, then turned and walked out of Qake, getting into a shiny black car that was idling at the curb. His associates followed.

Quistis cursed under her breath. She calmed the trembling in her hands, then cursed once more and headed into the kitchen. She ordered Zell back to the register, then resumed painting the Blue Dragon.

She couldn't afford to be intimidated. Not now. Not ever.

•o•o•o•o•o•o•

"I don't get it," Rinoa mumbled, flipping through one of Dollet's free weekly publications. A small stack of them awaited their turns next to her. "Lately, I can't turn a page without seeing an ad for the Hyperion. See? Here's another one."

"They've always promoted themselves aggressively," Quistis said, cleaning fingerprints and tiny nose prints from the front of the display case.

"I know, but these aren't ads for the whole resort. They're specifically for their nightclubs and party venues."

"It is peak party season."

"These things are everywhere, though, regardless of the publication's target audience. One of my customers told me there was even one in the Thrift-E-Shopper. People who read the Thrift-E-Shopper can't exactly afford to party at Wyldefire Nightclub. Why in the world would Hyperion target people so far outside of their usual demographic? Do you think this has anything to do with Selphie?"

"It has everything to do with Selphie."

Rinoa swiveled around in her seat. "You sound suspiciously sure."

"Seifer Almasy paid me a visit yesterday. As usual, he was all bluster and veiled threats, but he specifically mentioned luring Selphie to the Hyperion. He seems to believe that I can't stay in business without her patronage." Quistis gave a dry laugh. "I've been doing just that since I opened."

"That guy's always bad news. Even when we were kids. One summer, he staged a hostile takeover of my lemonade stand."

"I can't say I'm surprised. But now I _am_ curious. Your family has money; what were you doing running a lemonade stand?"

"I wanted a pony, and my father said the only way I'd get one was if I bought it myself. He did offer to buy me a racehorse, but that idea lost its shine when I realized I wouldn't be the one racing it." Rinoa shook her head. "But that's not important. My point is, Seifer has always been a cutthroat bully. He probably slashed his way out of the womb. If only he'd stayed in Deling."

"But he didn't, and as much as I'd love to, I can't change that. Just like I can't stop Selphie from taking her business to the Hyperion, if she wishes to. What I can do is focus on delivering one of the more unique cakes Dollet has seen, and hope the exposure from Selphie's party translates into a few new customers."

"So, two more days, huh? Are you nervous?"

"I'd be lying if I said I wasn't. I feel so silly, though. This order is nothing I haven't done before, only on a much larger scale. I'll be closing early on Saturday to give us enough time to put everything together."

"Ouch."

"I figured an estimate of lost revenue into the price, as well as the cost of Zell and Emmy's overtime."

Rinoa tapped the side of her head. "Smart lady."

"We'll close at noon," Quistis went on, as much to herself as to Rinoa, "and have the cake ready by four o'clock, and be at Selphie's by five."

"What time does the party start?"

"Seven. Are you going? Selphie says she invited everyone in town."

"I might swing by after I close up. I'm curious to see what kind of lifestyle an heiress leads. Also –" Rinoa leaned forward and dropped her voice – "do you think she'll have private security, or will the Dollet Police be there for crowd control?"

"I should have known you had an ulterior motive."

"If you'd seen Officer Leonhart, you wouldn't blame me one bit." Rinoa looked at her watch, and her eyes widened. "Gosh, how'd it get so late? I've got to get back to the store. See you later, Quistis!" She gathered up the publications and jogged out the door, stopping to untie Angelo before waving and heading down the street.

Quistis returned the wave, then looked down, where one of the publications had slid to the floor, unnoticed. She picked it up and thumbed through it until she came to one of the Hyperion's ads. It featured one of their nightclubs and promised nights of debauchery and desire. Quistis chuckled. Judging from her website, her cake design and her general personality, this didn't seem like Selphie's style at all.

Hyperion didn't know Selphie Tilmitt.

The resort had massive amounts of money and resources, but it lacked a personal connection to its clientele. Regarding Selphie, Quistis knew the person behind the fortune, at least a little bit, and right now, that was the most powerful tool in her possession.

She tossed the publication into the trash can and wiped down Rinoa's table. When the door opened and several customers walked in, she greeted them cheerfully, her spirits and resolve buoyed by her realization.

She was looking forward to Saturday night.


	4. Debut

Quistis nestled a tiny fondant Selphie on a bed of bubble wrap, in between two Blue Dragons, then loosely closed the flaps of the small cardboard box in which the trio lay. She surveyed the other boxes in the bakery, making sure she had all of the elements of Selphie's cake, and the necessary tools to assemble it once she and her team arrived at Selphie's house. Zell had gone to fetch the van Quistis had rented for the day, while Emmy finished packing the Trabian evergreens.

When Zell arrived, they carefully loaded the boxes into the van, drawing curious glances from passersby, whom Zell promptly invited to Selphie's party to see the finished product. Most of the onlookers simply laughed nervously before continuing on their way. Emmy volunteered to ride in the back to ensure that the cakes did not get jostled, Quistis locked up the bakery, and they departed for Selphie's home.

Selphie's villa was impressive, its white walls beautifully offset by the red-tile roofs common in the region. Bright, column-like trees lined the road leading to a paved drive and a porte-cochère. Quistis scanned the area, but did not see Selphie, or any member of the household staff Quistis assumed she had. She instructed Zell to keep the van, and its air-conditioner, running, and approached the front door. She rang the bell several times, but when no one answered, she turned back and followed a flagstone path that branched off the main walkway. She came upon a courtyard with a fountain in the center, and what looked like the beginnings of a DJ booth at one end. She called Selphie's name and wandered farther in.

"Well, hello," a man's voice said. Quistis spun around and saw a tall, lanky man leaning against a pillar under the portico. He tipped his hat at her and began to advance. Quistis backed away, positioning herself for a quick escape, if necessary.

"Who do we have here?" the man continued. "Sefie didn't tell me there were such pretty ladies in Dollet."

"I'm Quistis Trepe, from Qake bakery. Is Selphie home? I've brought her cake."

"Ah, an exquisite name for an exquisite beauty! It is a pleasure to meet you, Quistis. Sefie's gone inside to fetch more decorations, but go ahead and bring the cake through. And, if you need any help, I'm all yours."

Quistis laughed weakly. "No, thank you. My associates and I can handle it."

The man grinned. "The offer still stands."

Quistis grimaced and continued to back away. She heard a pop, like thin plastic parts striking one another, and the man's hat flew off his head, the victim of a orange foam bolt.

"Irvy, leave Quisty alone!" Selphie approached, twirling a toy gun in her hands. She shoved it into Irvy's arms, and he staggered backwards. "Galloping gumdrops, why do you have to be such a sleazeball? Sorry, Quisty. This is Irvine. He can be a terrible flirt, but don't worry, he's harmless."

"Harmless?" Irvine looked offended, as if that was the worst insult he'd ever been dealt.

Selphie gave his arm a light punch, then leaned against him. "Yeah. He's not the stud he thinks he is."

Quistis relaxed and glanced from Irvine to Selphie. "Your boyfriend?" she asked.

"Oh, gosh, no! We're just friends. We go way back. Irvy lived in Trabia for a while when we were both little, and that's how we met. We ran into each other again a few years ago at a shooting competition, and we've been super friends ever since. Just real good buds!"

Irvine's expression said otherwise.

"Anyhow," Selphie went on, "let's get that cake inside before the toppings melt. I can hardly wait to see it!"

"I'm afraid you'll have to wait a little bit longer," Quistis said. "We need to assemble it first."

"What?"

"Oh, it's all baked and iced, but I didn't want to risk the cake being damaged on the ride here, so we brought it in sections. We just have to put it all together and attach the decorations. It shouldn't take us long at all."

"Whew! You had me worried there, Quisty! That cake is the star of the show tonight … well, after me." Selphie smiled. "No pressure, of course."

"No pressure."

Selphie followed Quistis to the van, bouncing up and down and clapping her hands like a child as the parts of her cake were unloaded, and then led everyone to the kitchen. She watched as Quistis, Zell, and Emmy set the cake up on the cart she provided, but when they brought out the fondant figures, she said she wanted to be surprised and excused herself to finish decorating.

"It looks really good," said Emmy, sitting on a kitchen stool and appraising the competed cake. "To be honest, when I first saw that drawing, I didn't think we could pull it off."

"Yeah," Zell agreed, sitting down beside her, "I didn't think so, either."

Quistis frowned. "And I didn't think either of you had so little confidence," she said. "In yourselves _and_ in me."

"Hey, you gotta understand. This was the battiest design we've ever received. Just look at how many fondant pieces it's got! And then, running the shop on top of it all –"

"That's what this business is all about."

"Heh. You're right. But it was still crazy!"

"I won't deny that it was difficult, but this order was a good confidence-builder for all of us. If we can handle something like this, a traditional wedding cake should be nothing, and our daily offerings will be even easier, in comparison." Quistis smiled. "So, good work, you two. You're both real, seasoned bakers now!"

Emmy smiled shyly. "Thank you."

The kitchen door opened a crack, and a swath of bright yellow tulle peeked through. "Is it finished?" Selphie called from the other side.

"Yes, come in."

Selphie walked into the kitchen, already dressed for her party in a yellow dress and sparkly tiara, and gasped when she saw the cake. She smiled wide and walked around it, pointing at each fondant element and naming it, as if running through a mental checklist.

"And there I am!" she said at last. "Quisty, this is perfect. Thank you so much!" She launched herself at Quistis and hugged her tightly. Quistis stumbled backwards and caught herself against a countertop, then awkwardly patted Selphie's back.

"You're very welcome. I'm happy we delivered on your vision."

"Did you ever! And now everybody will know it, too. I'm gonna tell all my followers about this, but I think I'll wait until the cake is wheeled out to take the picture. Until then, why don't you all join the party? We've got music, snacks, and some really fun games. Come on!"

Zell brightened at the mention of food, and he started after Selphie, but hesitated and looked at Quistis.

"Oh, why not?" Quistis said. "We've earned it."

It was about a quarter past seven, and so far, only a few small groups had gathered in the courtyard. Peppy pop music blared from the speakers, and a long table covered with trays of party food ran beneath the portico along one side of the courtyard. At the opposite end, a group of targets, stationary and moving, had been set up, along with a selection of toy guns. A brightly-colored sign advertised the existence of a pool behind the house, but Selphie had apparently neglected to mention it in her invitation, since no one looked prepared to go swimming.

By about eight o'clock, the fashionably late crowd trickled in, including several families, and the party took on a lively atmosphere, though attendance remained well below the five hundred people Selphie had predicted would show. With an hour remaining before they were due to present the cake, Zell and Emmy sampled the party food, then tried their hands at the games, laughing and competing with one another. Quistis remained by the entrance to the house, and made small talk with partygoers she recognized. Selphie flitted from group to group, welcoming guests, introducing herself, and documenting it all with the camera on her phone.

Though Irvine had abandoned his attempts at seduction, he continued to try to engage Quistis in conversation, bobbing to the music in the background each time the conversation inevitably died out. After several awkward rounds of this, he began dancing, and was trying to get Quistis to join him, when Selphie arrived and zoomed her camera in on Quistis.

"And this is Quistis Trepe," she said, "owner of Qake, and the baker of _my_ cake, which you guys will see in just a bit. It's amazing! Hi, Quistis! Wave to my follow—Irvy! Irvy, get out of the shot! You've ruined it!"

Irvine had crept into the frame as Quistis was waving to the camera, and now sulked at Selphie's rebuke.

"You'll get your own shot," Selphie reassured him, "but right now, I wanna make sure everybody knows the best baker in Dollet!" She sighed and tapped on her phone's screen. "Okay, let's try this again."

Selphie repeated her spiel, Quistis waved to the camera, and Selphie moved on, Irvine at her heels. Quistis chuckled at the dynamic between the two, and continued to watch the party from the sidelines. She was so absorbed in doing so that she didn't notice Rinoa approach, and was startled when Rinoa heaved a disheartened sigh.

"I should've known she'd have her own security," she muttered, then turned to Quistis. "So, this is the big debut? It looks like a kid's birthday party."

"I'll admit, it does. But the people here seem to enjoy it. Those looking for something else left soon after they arrived."

"So, where's the cake? I want to see how you handled that wacky request."

"It's in the kitchen. We'll be presenting it at nine o'clock. In the meantime, there's some food over there, and a few games."

Rinoa went to investigate the food table, and returned with a plate stacked high with a variety of bite-sized treats. "I'll say this: Selphie knows the key to a good party is good food." She smiled and crammed a savory pastry in her mouth.

"Rinnie! You came!" Selphie ran across the courtyard to hug Rinoa. "I was worried you wouldn't. I was worried you hated me!"

"Hated?" Rinoa looked uncomfortable in Selphie's friendly embrace, her arms pinned to her sides, her plate of food hanging at a dangerous angle until Quistis took it from her. "I never said that. You confused me, that's all. I didn't expect someone like you to be so conscious of social issues."

"I'm not stupid." Selphie released her and smiled. "I can see what's wrong in the world, and I want to help out, even if it's just a little. So, you and me have that in common. We can be friends! We can raise awareness and money and _really_ make an impact!"

"I … hadn't thought of that."

"Well, then, think about it! We can be unstoppable, and have loads and loads of fun while doing good." Something caught Selphie's eye, and she took off in the direction of whatever it was. "Enjoy yourself, Rinnie," she called over her shoulder, "and thanks for showing up!"

"I'm glad you two have made your peace," Quistis said, handing Rinoa's plate back to her.

Rinoa blinked. "I didn't have a chance to. But she really does seem like a nice person, and with her connections, we can help more people than ever before. We might just get along, after all."

Quistis and Rinoa chatted, and as Rinoa relaxed, she began to move with the music, singing along with the songs she recognized. Suddenly, however, she froze. Her eyes grew wide and the plate dipped in her hand, spilling the remainder of its contents on the ground. She grabbed Quistis by the arm, pulled her close, then turned her head toward the front of the property.

"Oh, my gosh," she hissed. "Look who just pulled up."

Quistis squinted through the shrubs and saw a black-and-white vehicle pull up to the front of the house. The doors opened, and two uniformed policemen exited. Quistis tensed, and Rinoa's fingers dug deeper into her arm.

"Do you think it's him?"

"I'm more concerned about why they're here," Quistis whispered. Nobody at the party had done anything wild, and the nearest neighbors were too far away for the music to be much of a nuisance. She couldn't imagine what might have happened, unless Irvine … Of course, _Irvine_. Maybe he'd gotten a bit too flirtatious with somebody. She scanned the crowd for an upset woman, or an angry boyfriend or husband, but saw only happy people socializing on a pleasant summer evening.

"We shouldn't be here," one of the policemen said as they came within earshot. "We should be working."

"We _are _working," his partner assured him. "We're ambassadors of the department, here to honor Tilmitt's invitation. You really need to lighten up. Even Xu said so. I think that's why she sent us."

Rinoa gasped, shaking Quistis' arm up and down. "It is him! The grumpy one, on the left."

The grumpy one, indeed. He sulked and stalked across the courtyard. Quistis looked at him closely, but the brim of his hat and the lighting of the courtyard made it difficult to see his features.

"Besides," the second policeman went on, in response to his partner's grumbling, "the night shift came in at seven. They'll take care of the town. Just relax. Eat, mingle –"

"Whatever." The surly policeman leaned against a pillar. His body language indicated that insofar as he had come to this party, he felt he had fulfilled his obligations to the department. No one said he had to enjoy it.

"Good evening, ladies." The other policeman approached Quistis and Rinoa and flashed a smile. He was pleasant-looking, if a bit bland. "Enjoying the party?"

"Eh, it's okay," Rinoa replied, craning her neck to look at the policeman against the pillar. "Is that Officer Leonhart, by any chance?"

"Why, yes, how did you— wait a minute, you're that protester he arrested! Allow me to apologize, ma'am, the situation never should have escalated to that point."

"It's fine, really. I think his dedication to his job is admirable."

The officer snorted. "His dedication is costing the department. Most of the offenses that he takes people in for don't carry enough of a fine to recoup the processing costs. It's driving the higher-ups nuts, but he's extremely qualified for more severe tasks, so they're hesitant to let him go."

"What's his first name? I didn't see it anywhere on my documents after I was released."

"Squall. Squall Leonhart."

"Fitting," Quistis said. "His face is like a storm cloud."

The officer laughed. "That's what I've said all along! You're the only other person to make that connection." He held out his hand. "I'm Nida, by the way."

Quistis shook his hand and introduced herself, but Rinoa simply handed him her empty plate, already on her way to talk to Squall.

"I've gotta hand it to her," Nida said. "That's one brave lady."

Quistis and Nida watched the interaction. Rinoa approached Squall coyly, placing her arms behind her back and leaning forward with a smile. He responded in brief sentences, and she giggled. She spoke some more, swaying with the music, then grabbed hold of his hand and dragged him toward the center of the courtyard to dance. He stumbled after her, glaring at Nida as he passed, and was quickly lost in the crowd.

"Wow," said Quistis. She'd heard Rinoa could be persuasive, but she'd never seen her in action before. She wondered whether she reserved this energy for charming men, or whether she could apply it to promoting her business, as well.

"Indeed," Nida said. Then, he turned to Quistis and gestured to the makeshift dancefloor. "Shall we join them?"

"Thank you, but no. I'll be serving the cake soon, and I need to go make sure everything is in order. Don't worry, it seems that there are plenty more women than men here tonight. I'm sure you'll find a partner."

Soon afterward, as if drawn by Nida's request, Selphie bounded over. "Irvy found some pretty little thing who actually _likes_ his sweet talk," she said, making a face, "so I need a partner." She looked Nida up and down, and a mischievous grin spread across her face. "And you will definitely do!"

She grasped Nida's wrist and led him toward the dancefloor. He looked back, wide-eyed, and Quistis waved to him before heading into the house.

The kitchen was cool and quiet, a haven from the energy outside. Quistis looked at the cake, checking for cracks in the fondant, lopsided decorations, anything that might mar the presentation. Finding nothing of the sort, she sat on a stool and looked at the clock. Eight forty-five.

Zell and Emmy walked in a few minutes later, laughing and discussing something that had happened earlier in the evening.

"Could you believe that guy?" Zell said. "He was just asking every lady out there, like throwing noodles at a wall to see if they'll stick. Not that I do that."

"I appreciate you stepping up," said Emmy, blushing to the roots of her hair. "He really was convinced you were my boyfriend."

"You were pretty convincing, yourself. Where'd you pick up all those pet names and sweet nothings?"

"Oh, you know … books."

"I take it you enjoyed yourselves," Quistis said, handing them their aprons and motioning toward the sink.

"Yeah, surprisingly," Zell replied, lathering his hands with more vigor than necessary. "When I saw the setup, I thought it was gonna be lame. But it's got a pretty good vibe. I guess Selphie really does know how to throw a party."

At five minutes to nine, Quistis, Emmy, and Zell stood just inside the doorway to the courtyard, waiting for Selphie's signal. A flash of yellow caught Quistis' eye, and she watched Selphie scramble into the DJ booth and seize the microphone.

"Booyaka!" she shouted, as the DJ rushed to turn off the music. A few people in the crowd returned her unusual greeting. She nodded and pointed them out. "These people get it. They're super-duper cool beans. Anyway, listen up. This party is about to kick into high gear with the part you've all been waiting for, but before that, I'd like to take a minute to thank some people.

"First of all, thank _you_, all of you, for coming out tonight. A party's not a party if nobody shows up, right? So, thank you for the warm welcome. And speaking of welcomes, I'd like to thank the Dollet Police Department for making sure my parade went off without a hitch. We've got a couple officers here tonight – um, Rinnie, can you let that one breathe, please? – so thank 'em when you see 'em. For me!" A round of applause went up among the crowd, and Selphie used this time to procure a long item from beneath the turntable. She took a deep breath, and began speaking again.

"All right, everybody!" she said. "This is the hour you've all been waiting for. Turn your attention to the west courtyard –" she angled a floodlight toward the door, and Quistis looked away from the glare "—and get ready to be wowed! It! Is! Cake time!" She raised the object she held and fired a blast of confetti into the air as Quistis and her associates rolled the cake outside and set it up next to the food table, where a line had already formed. Selphie followed them with the floodlight.

"Just look at that detail," she said. "The forests of Trabia, my homeland; the sparkling bridge of fate and opportunity; those fearsome Blue Dragons; the lovely town of Dollet; and, finally, my new home. And there I am, and _here_ I am, welcoming you all to it! Hello, Dollet! I'm happy to be here. Booyaka, everybody! Let's eat!"

"Booyaka!" the crowd replied, in unison, and Selphie beamed.

"And just because I want _everybody_ to know," she added, "our lovely dessert comes to us courtesy of Qake, the best bakery in Dollet! Which is run by my friend, Quistis Trepe, the best baker in the world! Thanks, Quisty!"

Quistis laughed. Selphie never seemed to run out of superlatives, and she seemed to mean every one. Quistis felt a surge of warmth at hearing Selphie refer to her as a "friend". Regardless of how casually Selphie tossed that word around, she had a knack for making its recipient feel special. Selphie's positivity was contagious, and Quistis wondered whether, in these uncertain times, it might be worth as much as to Dollet as her monetary fortune.

Quistis looked at Zell and Emmy, then drew her knife through the fondant and icing and cake to make the first slice. "You heard Selphie," she said to the guest who received it. "Let's eat!"

_Booyaka_.

•o•o•o•o•o•o•

"Thank you again, sooo much," Selphie said as Quistis loaded her equipment back into the van. "Are you sure you don't want to take some cake with you? There's plenty left, and you worked so hard on it."

"I'm sure," Quistis replied, then looked toward Zell and Emmy.

"Ah, what the heck, I'll take some," Zell said. "Want some, Em? I can get it for you."

"Yes, please." Emmy grinned. "Just a little slice."

Zell returned minutes later, carrying two paper plates sagging with the weight of large hunks of cake. He ignored Emmy's stare and placed them in a box for the ride back to Qake. After another round of hugs from Selphie, they departed.

It was past midnight when they finished cleaning Qake. Quistis had been awake for more than twenty-two hours, and she felt the effects of that rippling through her muscles and clouding her mind. With a sigh of relief, she turned off the lights and locked the bakery behind her. She thanked Zell and Emmy for their work, and, since Qake was closed on Sundays, suggested they all use the next day to recuperate.

"So, the van goes back in the morning, right?" Zell asked.

"Yes, nine o'clock," Quistis answered. "Please don't forget. There are significant late fees."

"No problem! How about I give you ladies a lift home?"

"Zell, I only live a half-mile away. I walk to work every morning."

"Yeah, but you're not dead tired when you do. Come on, don't be so stubborn. Emmy, you too. Hop in."

Quistis smiled and relented. "Thank you."

Zell was right; she _was_ dead tired. She nearly nodded off during the short ride to her apartment, and, once inside, she decided that no chore was too important to not wait until tomorrow.

As she drifted off to sleep, snippets of the evening replayed in her mind. She smiled, despite her weary thoughts and sore muscles, and surrendered to dreams of confetti and bright yellow tulle.


	5. Aftermath

One day of rest was not enough. Quistis sat in the kitchen at Qake, laying her head on her arms and listening for the timer. She'd already burned one batch of cupcakes this morning, and the smell hung in air, a pungent accusation of having worked beyond her limits. She would air out the kitchen once Zell and Emmy arrived, but for now, she let the reminder of her misstep serve as motivation to get through the early hours.

The other cupcakes came out well, and she was piping strawberry buttercream onto one batch when her employees arrived.

"Ugh, what the heck happened in here?" Zell asked, fanning the air in front of him.

"A minor accident," Quistis replied, not looking up from her work. "I didn't want to prop the door open while I was alone in here."

"I understand. Want me to do it now?"

"Yes, please, for a few minutes. But let me get these cupcakes finished and covered first."

"So, what should I get started on?" asked Emmy, tying her apron around her waist.

"If you could melt some chocolate and make the accents for the Strawberry Delight cupcakes, that'd be great. And Zell, could you please get started on the Blueberry Breakfast Cake? After that, the Decadence, Citrus Kiss, and Double-Dipped Strawberry."

Zell gave her a thumbs-up. "Got it!"

Quistis yawned, then moved on to filling and decorating the peach cupcakes. "Neither of you seem tired," she said. "How do you do it?"

"For starters, we're not up as early as you are," Emmy said, stirring the chocolate.

"Yeah, and we also know how to relax on our days off," Zell added.

"You're implying that I don't?" Quistis asked, frowning.

"It sure doesn't seem like it. C'mon, I'll bet you spent all day yesterday working on menus and recipes and stuff."

"And going over the books and preparing orders for supplies." She sighed. "You're right, I don't know how to relax. I suppose I'm afraid that if I do, Qake will lose what little business it has left."

"Maybe business will pick up," Emmy offered, "after Selphie's party. She posted lots of pictures of the cake on her website, and linked each one back to our website."

"That was very kind of her, and I appreciate it, but I wouldn't pin my hopes on something like that. You saw the turnout at her party. She might be popular online, but she still doesn't have much influence here in Dollet."

Emmy and Zell went quiet, and a gloomy atmosphere descended in the kitchen. Quistis silently berated herself for airing her concerns. This was no way to start the week, especially after the enjoyable Saturday evening they'd all had. She gave a half-hearted chuckle.

"Oh, don't listen to me," she said. "I'm just tired and cranky. We'll do just fine, and, as long as we keep our regulars happy, Qake will survive. Dollet is independent and resilient, and we will reflect that in everything we do. We've got some fun recipes for today, so let's get ready to wow our customers!"

This seemed to work, and the gloominess slowly dissipated with the smell of burnt cupcakes. Quistis closed the door, wishing she could shut out the doubts in her own mind just as easily.

•o•o•o•o•o•o•

"Tropical Breeze? I've been waiting forever for you to bring these back!" Rinoa pointed to a selection on the menu. "I'll take two – no, three. I can't take the chance you'll be sold out by lunchtime."

"If everyone is as enthusiastic about this flavor as you are, I should have a pretty good day." Quistis boxed up the cupcakes. "So, if I may be so bold to ask, how did you make out with Officer Leonhart?"

"Funny you should phrase it like that …"

Quistis raised her eyebrows.

"Oh, who am I kidding?" Rinoa frowned. "Nothing happened. Nothing like that, anyway. We talked for a bit, and he really is an interesting guy once he drops that whole 'by the book' attitude. I guess he's just tightly wound. Not unlike someone else I know."

"That's the second time I've heard something to that effect today." Quistis rang up the order. "Did I do something at the party that I'm not aware of?"

"No, and that's the point. You didn't do _anything_. That Nida guy told me that he asked you to dance and you said _no_, you had to check on the _cake_."

"Well, I did."

"You had time for one measly little dance. You know, if you keep this up, you'll spend the rest of your life checking on cakes. Alone. In a dark little kitchen."

"With an oven fueled by wood I have to chop myself, I presume?" Quistis couldn't help but laugh. "Don't worry about me. I know what I'm doing. I knew when I started this business that it would require sacrifices. And especially right now, Qake demands all of my attention. This is my dream, and I'm not going to jeopardize it for some passing distraction."

Rinoa shrugged. "Okay. I only thought you might want to leave a little room in your life for fun."

"This _is_ fun for me. Yes, it might be stressful, but when things go well, when I see how happy my customers become over a simple cupcake, it's incredibly satisfying. I wouldn't put myself through the worry and early mornings for something that I didn't truly enjoy." Quistis grinned. "Besides, if I abandoned my responsibilities to pursue a whirlwind romance, where would you get your Tropical Breeze cupcakes?"

A look of abject horror came over Rinoa's face, and she pulled the box of cupcakes to her chest, as if she was afraid they might vanish into thin air. "You're right," she said quietly. "Forget I said anything. You definitely know what you're doing." She nodded and smiled, then left the shop, holding her cupcake box like a miniature treasure chest.

The rest of the morning passed quickly, and Quistis was pleased to welcome several new customers who had discovered her bakery through Selphie's recommendation.

"I didn't know you made silly cakes," one woman said.

"Pardon?" Quistis was unsure whether to interpret this comment as criticism.

"Cute cakes, like the one you made for that Selphie lady. I thought you only made those high-class, frou-frou wedding cakes."

"Nobody had ever requested a whimsical design before."

"Well, I like it! My daughter's birthday is coming up in a couple of months, and I'd really like to get her something like that. Not as big, of course, but something _fun_."

"I can definitely help you with that. Do you have an idea for the design?"

"Not yet. I wanted to make sure you'd do it first, and that it wasn't a celebrity-only option."

Quistis smiled, then pulled out a brochure and handed it to the woman. "Qake welcomes unique orders from all of our customers. Here is a price guide, based on size. Fondant figures will cost extra, but we can negotiate that when we go over your design idea. Our special order policy requires an advance notice of at least seventy-two hours, agreement on the final design of the cake, and one-third of the total cost up-front, to cover ingredients and supplies."

"Sounds reasonable to me," the woman said, scanning the brochure. "I'll get back to you in a few days with my design. Thank you!"

"You're very welcome. Thank you for choosing Qake." Quistis reached below the counter and produced a stack of brochures. She was arranging them next to the cash register when another customer approached, saying he had overheard her conversation with the woman, and inquired about an order of his own. By the time Quistis returned to the kitchen to begin the next batch of cupcakes, she had handed out five brochures and discussed ideas for a cupcake display at an official Dollet function.

She placed chocolate accents on the strawberry cupcakes and handed the tray to Emmy to arrange in the display case. Zell straightened the brochures on the counter and greeted the customer who walked in, then launched into his recommendations from among the day's offerings. Quistis finished cleaning up and walked out of the kitchen, and was surprised to see Nida standing at the display case, trying to keep up with Zell's descriptions of the cupcakes within. He glanced up and smiled when he saw Quistis.

"Hello, Ms. Trepe," he said. "I tried some of your cake at Ms. Tilmitt's party, and it was delicious. She suggested I stop by to try the other flavors you have here."

"That was nice of her," Quistis said. "Have you made a decision yet?"

Nida shrugged. "They all look very good."

"And they are, I assure you. Our Strawberry Delight is a popular flavor, and this batch was just baked." She grinned playfully. "But I'm not sure what being seen eating a fluffy pink cupcake might do to your image."

"You're right, maybe I should get something else."

Quistis let her shoulders droop and fought a sigh. "Our other seasonal flavors include Tropical Breeze – pineapple with coconut buttercream – Peaches and Cream, and Iced Tea – a cupcake made with tea and topped with lemon buttercream." When he still hadn't decided, she pointed out the basic cupcakes. "We also have vanilla and chocolate cupcakes, with corresponding buttercreams."

"Oh, those look good. I think I'll take the chocolate."

"Excellent choice! For here, or to go?"

"To go, definitely." He leaned toward the counter and dropped his voice to a whisper. "I'm not even on my break right now. I was just on patrol when I passed by the shop, and decided to drop in."

"Don't worry, I won't tell Xu."

"Thank you!"

A colorful figure slunk by the window as Quistis was boxing up Nida's cupcake. The bells above the door tinkled, and the figure rushed in.

"Booyaka!" Selphie said, slapping Nida on the back. "You finally got the guts to come, huh?"

"W-what are you talking about?" Nida asked weakly.

"Yes, Selphie," Quistis said, "what are you talking about?"

"I recommended this place to Nida." Selphie smiled impishly.

"He told me as much. What does that have to do with having guts?"

"Gah, you people are so dense! Can't you see _why _I did that?" Met with blank stares, Selphie shook her head violently. "I'm trying to set you guys up!"

"What?" Quistis and Nida asked in unison. Nida took several steps back from the counter.

"You two looked so cute together at the party, I figured there must be some sparks there."

"We were just talking."

"Nuh-uh. Rinnie said he asked you to dance."

"A friendly gesture!" Nida protested, panic in his eyes.

"Rinnie?" Quistis raised an eyebrow. "Since when are you and Rinoa close enough to share gossip?"

"Since Saturday night," Selphie answered. "We got to talking as the party wound down, and we have a lot more in common than we thought! It's gonna be so much fun here in Dollet! It'll be the three of us ladies and your two policemen, and –"

"Selphie. _Selphie._ Calm down. Please don't jump to conclusions. I'm very happy that you and Rinoa are on good terms with one another, but Nida and I are nothing more than vague acquaintances. We met at the party, had a conversation, and that was it. Now, he's here as a customer. A customer that I don't want to make uncomfortable."

Selphie deflated. "Really? There's nothing going on with you two?"

Quistis shook her head.

"I can't deny that Ms. Trepe is a pretty lady," Nida said. "But I'm not interested in her that way. Besides –" he grinned bashfully "— I already have someone."

"What?" Selphie stared at him. "Who?"

"Her name's Annabel, and she works at the Hotel Dollet. She's very lovely, and she has such a cute accent."

"Why didn't you – I wasted a dance on you!"

Nida's eyes grew wide, and Quistis began laughing. "Apparently, Selphie has quite the imagination," she said. "Please don't let it bother you, Nida. And please don't let it dissuade you from visiting Qake in the future. I assure you, Selphie will not continue to harass you."

"I sure as heck won't!" Selphie pouted. "I wasted a dance _and _my matchmaking talents."

"I'll definitely come back," Nida said, still bewildered. "The cakes and cupcakes are too good to pass up. I can even bring Annabel … Well, have a good day, ladies." He tipped his hat and left the shop, shaking his head.

"The nerve of some guys," Selphie grumbled. "Acting all silly and cute when they already have a girlfriend. Here I thought I was doing something good …"

"You are," Quistis told her, watching as she looked over the cupcakes in the display case.

"What do you mean? I was trying to set you up with a guy who's already _taken_. I feel so dumb, and –"

"No, I meant in terms of exposure. I've had six people inquire about special orders this morning alone, and each of them mentioned your cake as the reason. So, thank you."

Selphie brightened. "Oh, Quisty, I'm so happy for you!"

"Well, they haven't placed the orders yet."

"But they will! Just wait and see. I'm so glad that I was able to give Qake a little boost." She turned back to the cupcakes. "And I want to do it again. But first, I want to try these new flavors you have."

Selphie bought one cupcake of each flavor and tasted them, taking a generous sip of water between each bite. She made sounds of approval over the strawberry and peach flavors, slammed her hands on the table in excitement over the Tropical Breeze, and leapt to her feet when she tasted the iced tea cupcake.

"These are amazing!" she cried, spraying crumbs. "They are the perfect flavors for my happy birthday barbecue. I'd like to place an order."

"Happy birthday barbecue?"

"Yep! My birthday's coming up next month, and I'm getting ready to send out invitations to a barbecue at my place. I'm actually going to have a guest list this time, so we'll know how many people we need to feed."

"And what is your estimate so far?"

"Oh, about two hundred."

Quistis repeated the number and Selphie nodded. "I've gotten commitments from several groups of my followers, and even some other online personalities. Then, of course, I have to get my family out here, even though my mother doesn't want anything to do with Uncle Rendel's money. And I've sent invitations to all the people who signed the guestbook at my last party. Altogether, that makes one hundred and eighty-three people. So, I'm thinking that two hundred cupcakes is a nice round number to order, and you and your staff can have some, too!"

"Two hundred … cupcakes?"

Selphie sighed. "Is there something wrong with your ears today, Quisty? Yes, I'd like to order two hundred cupcakes, different flavors, with pretty decorations. I've already got some designs in mind; I'll bring them by tomorrow morning. In the meantime, load up a box of those iced tea cupcakes, and some Tropical Breeze, too! I think I've fallen in love!"

•o•o•o•o•o•o•

Two hundred cupcakes. The size of the order wasn't necessarily a problem, but Selphie's design ideas could be. As she cleaned the kitchen, Quistis tried to imagine what Selphie might request. Fanciful designs ran through her mind, everything from traditional sprinkles to individual fondant figures, and even some minor pyrotechnics. What if she decided to launch some of them like confetti? What if –

Quistis blinked, and shook her head to clear the thoughts. She was becoming as bad as Selphie. Is this what it felt like to live as Selphie Tilmitt? That little flight of fancy alone was exhausting, and Quistis wondered where Selphie found her seemingly endless energy. There was no way she would be able to outguess Selphie; she would just have to wait and see Selphie's idea, and try her best to keep it under control.


	6. Storytime

Quistis never wanted to see a picnic basket again.

Selphie's request had seemed oddly innocuous, at least for her – four flavors of cupcakes, fifty cupcakes each, each flavor decorated with a different fondant topper – until it came time to make the decorations. Emmy and Zell were a tremendous help in that regard. Emmy churned out diminutive pairs of sunglasses and tiny palm trees at an astonishing pace, and Zell assembled the prettiest bouquets of miniature flowers Dollet had seen. Quistis took it upon herself to make the picnic basket decorations for the peach cupcakes, but by the time she had completed the first dozen, she realized that had been a mistake. And she had only herself to blame.

She'd made the design far too detailed, from the weave of the basket to the tiny food that went inside. She knew that, outside of Selphie, most people wouldn't spare the decoration a second glance, but she hoped to impress the people who did. She considered changing the design and scrapping the first baskets, but she couldn't bear the thought that the hours spent on those would have been in vain. She had always been stubborn – though, until recently, those who remarked on it couched in more positive terms, like "tenacious," or "driven"—and she was determined to finish what she'd begun, no matter the cost to her dexterity, or sanity.

With two weeks remaining until the party, Quistis worked long hours at Qake, staying well beyond closing, and often leaving after nightfall. She completed the final basket during a late-morning lull, then pulled off her gloves with a heavy sigh.

"Wow, you did it!" Zell said, abandoning his post at the register to investigate the sheet tray lined with baskets.

"You sound surprised." Quistis rose and walked to the sink to wash her hands.

"I am, a little. There's just so much to each basket, I definitely thought you'd go crazy making something like this over and over and over." He frowned. "And then you refused help. Me and Emmy would've been happy to work on some of these. Why didn't you let us?"

"Because the baskets were _my_ job, as we agreed at the start of this project. Both of you did your respective jobs very well. It wouldn't be fair for me not to do the same."

"Yeah, but these baskets were insane! I wouldn't have thought you were being unfair, and I don't think Emmy would've, either. You know, it's okay to admit when you're in over your head."

"Excuse me?"

Zell looked at the floor and rubbed the back of his head. "Ah, I mean … sometimes, you overestimate what you can do. We all do that. Heck, I was _known_ for doing that back in Balamb! I got into so many stupid scrapes when I was a kid … But there's nothing wrong with owning up to it. The way I see it, you can swallow your pride every now and then, or you can drown in it."

"Or, you can learn to swim." Quistis leaned against the sink and crossed her arms. "I appreciate your concern, Zell, and I know both you and Emmy are always willing to help when I need it, but I try very hard not to ask for more than what I need." She smiled and straightened. "At any rate, the picnic basket nightmare is behind us. Let's get these decorations somewhere they can properly dry, and focus on running the shop, until it's time to fill Selphie's massive order!"

•o•o•o•o•o•o•

"Welcome back, Qake crew!" Selphie met the van as Zell pulled into the porte-cochère, and craned her neck to get a view of its contents. She was dressed more casually than the last time, in a polka-dot sundress and sandals, her characteristic flip pulled into a ponytail. "I've got this neato display stand ready in the great room," she went on. "The company I bought it from said it can hold up to two hundred and fifty cupcakes, so there should be plenty of space! And I've got some extra decorations to fill in any empty spots."

She waited for Quistis and the others to unload the first batch of cupcakes, then led the way inside, humming to herself.

"Neato, indeed," Quistis murmured, upon seeing the display stand. For once, Selphie's superlatives had failed to adequately describe the object at hand. Quistis doubted any words could. The display stand was a massive, seven-tiered tower that stood taller than Quistis. Each tier had a border of yellow rope lights, which cut inward to snake around the central support, before culminating in a large circle at the top. Small clusters of fiber optic lights protruded from along the circumference of the circle, cycling through shades of yellow and orange, apparently meant to represent the rays of the sun. Meanwhile, a thin garland of artificial ivy was hung in festoons around each tier, and small bunches of flowers, also artificial, were tucked into the lights at even intervals. The whole thing stood on a massive, checkered picnic blanket.

"Yeah, it came Wednesday, and I've been decorating it ever since." Selphie stepped back to survey her work proudly. "And don't worry, I gave it a good wipe-down just this morning, so it's ready to do its thing!"

Quistis, Zell, and Emmy arranged the cupcakes on the stand, with occasional input from Selphie. When they were finished, Selphie inspected the fondant decorations and smiled.

"This is exactly what I imagined," she said. "They're all so cute, and does the picnic basket actually have tiny food inside? Quisty! That is such a cool touch! Everyone's gonna love these. They all just scream, 'summer!'"

"I'm very glad you're happy with how they turned out," Quistis said, rearranging several cupcakes to fill in an empty space. "I hope your party goes well tonight."

"What? You're not staying?"

"One of the advantages of cupcakes is that they are self-service items. You don't need us to stick around this time."

"But I _want_ you to stick around. All of you! What kind of party is it if your friends don't show up? Come on, let's go to the courtyard. The band I hired for tonight should be here any minute to run through their soundcheck, and the catering team is setting up. There'll be so much food! Hamburgers, hot dogs, steaks, salads, chips – you name it, Selphie's got it!"

Zell perked up at the mention of hot dogs. He looked from Selphie to Quistis several times, panic creeping into his features at the very real possibility of missing out on a serving of his favorite food. Once they reached the courtyard and the smell of warming charcoal wafted toward them, Emmy joined him, adding a longing gaze at the catering team to her silent appeal.

Selphie snickered. "It looks like you're outnumbered, Quisty. You can't let your employees down."

"I suppose not, though I don't want a repeat of last time." Quistis motioned to Zell to hand over the keys to the van. "I'm going back to Qake to clean up, and I'll be back here before the party really gets going. This way, we can all enjoy our evening, without work hanging over our heads."

At the bakery, Quistis wiped down the counters and work surfaces, and swept and mopped the kitchen. As she moved to the front of the store to do the same, she noticed a black car pulling away from the curb, and a piece of paper wedged into the door frame. She unlocked the door to retrieve it, and unfolded it to find a note.

_Closing early? That's never a good sign. And I was going to let Raijin buy a cupcake this time, too!_

_Two months, Ms. Trepe._

– _Almasy_

Quistis crumpled the note in her hand, grinding the paper against her palm. Soon, however, her fury gave way to laughter as she realized the absurdity of the situation. Seifer truly felt threatened by her little shop, so much so that he had made a special trip into Dollet to check on its status. She'd never have guessed he was serious about the three-month timetable, but he apparently had so little else to think about that he was adhering strictly to it. Quistis ultimately took it as a compliment that she and her business frightened him so, and tossed the remains of the note in the trash. She turned on the radio behind the counter, and finished cleaning the shop to upbeat music, quietly singing along.

This was one time Seifer Almasy would not get his way.

•o•o•o•o•o•o•

The following Saturday, Quistis delivered an order of camping-themed cupcakes to Rinoa's bookstore for a special event. Rinoa, wearing a scout leader's hat, greeted Quistis and led her to the back area of the bookstore. Designed for workshops and readings by authors Rinoa could never seem to attract, the space had been transformed for the day into an indoor campsite. Potted plants lined the walls, jutting inward at unexpected angles; evergreen boughs made of wooden dowels and dark green pipe cleaners hung from the ceiling; a three-dimensional plastic campfire stood in the middle of the room, a hidden fan inside tossing around the thin "flames"; and a recording of crickets and frogs looped in the background, punctuated now and then by the howls of distant predators.

"I want the experience to be as authentic as possible," Rinoa explained, helping Quistis arrange the cupcakes on the tabletop stand. "Selphie suggested I bring in a few insects – in cages, of course – but that's where I drew the line."

"And not at the sound of carnivorous creatures in search of their next meal?" Quistis asked with a grin.

"Children need to understand that the wilderness can be dangerous. Where else do you think spooky campfire stories come from? It can also be beautiful, though. Watch this." Rinoa dimmed the lights in the room, and tiny stars began to glow on the ceiling.

"Very pretty. You have created quite the atmosphere back here."

"Well, business has been kind of slow, so I've had a lot of time to work on this."

Quistis frowned. "Will the store be okay?"

"We'll be fine. We're still bringing in enough to cover the cost of operation, and Watts' wages. I've had to cut back Rosalie's hours, but with fall comes school, and with school comes book reports, so I'm looking forward to increasing them again, soon." She arranged a stack of thin paperbacks next to the cupcakes. "I'm also looking forward to selling a few of these today: _The Hasberry Howler and Other Creepy Tales_. Kids eat up scary legends and tall tales like candy. Or cupcakes. And, it's illustrated!"

Misshapen figures and terrified townsfolk appeared every few pages as Quistis flipped through the book, but nothing was as frightening as hearing that her friend's business was struggling, as well. "Did I mention that I got another visit from Seifer?" she said.

"No. When was this?"

"Last Saturday. I came back to clean the shop before heading to Selphie's party for the night, and I saw his car driving away. He left a note in the door, saying that closing early was not a good sign for my business."

"Hah! If he only knew why you closed early that day, he'd have blown steam out of his ears!"

"He also mentioned his timetable. He said three months, and he meant it." Quistis chuckled dryly. "It's so ridiculous, I couldn't help but laugh. Though I can't deny that knowing he's watching Qake makes me uncomfortable. I realize that's his intention, and I shouldn't let it get to me, but I find I've been working harder to make sure the shop, and my employees, look happy and successful at all times. It's tiring."

"And that's exactly what he wants. He's trying to wear you down, and you're right when you say you shouldn't let it get to you." Rinoa tapped a finger against her lips, thinking. "You need a little pick-me-up. Tell you what, why don't you bring down any leftover cupcakes after you close, and I'll see if I can get any of these kids' parents to spring for some. And bring some business cards and brochures, too! Many locals simply have never gotten around to our shops, and offering them a taste is a good way to snag a few new customers."

"That's a good idea. I will. Thank you, Rinoa."

"It's nothing. Besides, you'll be here just in time for our grand finale – Selphie's dramatic telling of a campfire story of her own!"

"I'm intrigued. I'll see you then."

At three-thirty, with Qake cleaned and locked up until Monday, Quistis carried a tray of assorted cupcakes halfway down the block to Sant'Angelo Books. Angelo greeted her as soon as she stepped through the door, tail wagging, and retired to her bed beside the counter when she realized Quistis had no free arms with which to pet her. Watts offered a greeting of his own, and directed her to the workshop, from which giggles and the occasional shriek could be heard.

"And Bunny was mad 'cause Kitty ate all her cookies, so Bunny was gonna scare Kitty," a little girl said, her brow furrowed in concentration as she rattled off her own "scary" story. "So Bunny hided in Kitty's closet, and Bunny put a blanky over herself so she would look like a ghost, and then Bunny waited. Kitty opened the closet and Bunny jumpeded out and Bunny said 'Boo!' Kitty fainted and Bunny was sad. But then Kitty waked up again and said 'Sorry, Bunny. I won't eat no more cookies, 'less I share with you.' And they were happy. The end."

She sat back and smiled, satisfied with her effort.

"Thank you, Mirla," Rinoa said. "I like happy endings. See? Scary stories can have happy endings, too, as long as they're spooky along the way."

"Pssh, that wasn't scary," a boy on the other side of the room said. "It was what, two fluffy animals fighting over cookies."

"Different things are scary to different people, Galdan. I know I'm scared of having a fight with my friends, even if they don't dress up like ghosts. I'll bet you're scared of something you don't want to admit."

"Nuh-uh. I'm not scared of nothin'!"

"We're all scared of something, and that's okay. Now, who wants a cupcake? Everybody grab one – just one! – and then sit on this side of the story circle. Our guest will be arriving soon!"

As the children scrambled to the table, Rinoa walked over to Quistis and took the tray from her.

"You work really well with children," Quistis said. "I wouldn't have had any idea how to handle that situation."

Rinoa shrugged. "Children are just tiny people. You treat them the way you would anyone else."

"I'm not so sure. They seem far more unpredictable."

"You say that, even knowing Selphie?"

"Good point. Where is she, anyway?"

"She's in the stockroom, rehearsing. She's taking her appearance here very seriously." Rinoa turned back to the children, wrangling them into more or less one area, then glanced back at Quistis. "Stick around. This should be interesting."

A soft whine behind Quistis alerted her to Angelo's presence. She reached down and scratched behind Angelo's ears, then gave her a firm pat. Angelo sat down, as if even she wanted to see Selphie's performance.

"Psst!" A whisper cut through the chatter, and Selphie stuck her head through the doorway, making a slashing motion across her throat. "Cut the lights! Quisty, tell Rinnie to cut the lights!" Quistis relayed the message to Rinoa, and the workshop grew dim, lit only by the stars on the ceiling.

Suddenly, ominous music began to play, and a shriek startled everyone in the room. Angelo barked, and several children dropped their cupcakes, only to pick them up and continue eating. Another shriek, and this time, Selphie stumbled into the room, looking over her shoulder and shining a flashlight behind her. When the children recognized her, they began cheering and clapping. Selphie started and spun around, as if she hadn't noticed them there before.

"Oh, thank goodness you're all here!" she said, sitting in a chair across from them. "Something was chasing me through the woods, but with all of you and this nice warm campfire, that nasty monster knows he can't mess with me anymore. Hi, I'm Selphie Tilmitt, and I've got loads and loads of stories to tell, from the frozen ground of Trabia to the Hasberry Plains on a full-moon night. Who wants to hear a story?"

Another round of cheers and applause.

"All right, now hold onto your cupcakes, 'cause this is gonna be a wild ride." Selphie took a deep breath, then continued in a low, sinister voice. "It was a dark and stormy night, and the moon was filled with blood …"

Even in the darkness, Quistis could see Rinoa grow pale. Rinoa cleared her throat. "Um, Selphie? Maybe tone it down a bit?"

Selphie frowned. "Oh, all right," she said in her normal voice. "Everybody, forget about that story, okay? My _boss_ wants me to tell you a different one. Hmm, let me think …"

"No!" shouted a little girl in the crowd. "We wanna hear the scary story!"

"Yeah," cried a boy, "we want the one about the blood moon!"

"Uh-huh, spooky story!"

"Blood moon! Blood moon!" the children began to chant in unison. Selphie cast a panicked look at Rinoa, then laughed weakly.

"Heh, well you see," she began, "it's really not all that bloody. In fact, that line about the moon is the only blood in it."

"But why?" one child asked. "Why is the moon full of blood?"

"Yeah, why?" another echoed.

"Oh, _ahem_, well actually," Selphie went on, "the moon was full of blood because … because it was really a _heart_! Yeah, a giant monster heart! And all the people walking around under that moon, all the kids playing, and the boyfriends and girlfriends holding hands, and the old people and the mommies and daddies, they're actually walking inside the monster's stomach, and …"

Rinoa groaned and slapped a hand to her forehead.

"How did she manage to make it _worse_?" Quistis wondered aloud.

Rinoa simply shook her head and whimpered, drawing Angelo's attention. Angelo wandered over, one step too close to the children. Mirla, cowering in the back row, reached out and flung her arms around Angelo's neck. Angelo gave a quiet yelp, then, somehow sensing that Mirla meant no harm, relaxed.

"Good doggy," Mirla cooed. "The story is scary. Good doggy will proteck me."

Fueled by sugar and ignited by the possibility that they really were living in the bowels of a giant beast, the children erupted into a frenzy of hyperactive play and heated debates. Rinoa tried to contain them, but with each new theory they posited, Selphie expanded on the world she had created, driving them further into their cupcake-enhanced delirium.

Parents cast questioning glances at Rinoa as they collected their supercharged children, and helped themselves to cupcakes in compensation for the evening that lay ahead of them. While Rinoa could not get them to pay, she did manage to force business cards into their hands, along with a coupon for her store and a humble apology.

Rinoa looked around at the mess that remained, then pulled off her hat and let it drop to the floor. Quistis offered to help her clean up, and strongly suggested that Selphie do the same. Rinoa wasted no time in designating Selphie the trash collector, while she and Quistis set about folding chairs and wiping down tables. Angelo had made herself scarce during the ruckus, and now curled in her bed by the front counter, satisfied that all was right in her world once more.

Quistis was wandering the children's section to reshelve the copies of _The Hasberry Howler _that had not become hopelessly coated in frosting, when a customer walked through the front door. Since Watts had stepped away from the register to help move the tables and chairs into the storage room, Angelo took it upon herself to greet this customer. She rose, stretched, and trotted to the door.

"What?" a man's voice said. "What's a dog doing in here? Hmph. You seem friendly enough."

Quistis peered around a shelf and bit her lip to keep from laughing when she saw Squall Leonhart kneeling next to Angelo and scratching behind her ears.

"Sant'Angelo di Roma," Squall read from Angelo's tag. "Is that your name? Is this store named after you? You must be pretty important, then." He continued scratching, and Angelo nudged him with her nose. "Hey. Down, down. There's a good boy."

"Actually, Angelo's a girl," Rinoa said, walking up from between the shelves. "But she still appreciates your comments, don't you, girl? You didn't know Squall could be so friendly, did you?"

Squall shot to his feet, color rushing into his face. Quistis had heard the expression "deer in the headlights," but she had never seen it on a real person until now. Squall stood, stiff-backed, his eyes wide and fixed on Rinoa.

"I didn't know that, either," Rinoa went on, looking at him. "I also didn't know he was such a good dancer. Well, after he relaxes a bit."

"Seamlessly integrate yourself into the world of your target," Squall said, his voice constricted. "Undercover assignments require such levels of subterfuge."

"So, it's work-related, then? That's too bad."

Squall shrugged. Rinoa grinned.

"Welcome to Sant'Angelo Books. How can I help you?"

"Huh?"

"Were you looking for something in particular? Or did you come to ask _me _to dance, this time?"

Squall's blush deepened. "No."

"No, to which question?" A giggle rippled through Rinoa's voice.

"The firs—the second. I'm here to buy a book. A magazine."

"Just so you know, we don't carry naughty magazines in this store. You can find those in the shop next to the Shining Bomber."

Quistis wondered how many more shades of red Squall's face could turn before he suffered some type of medical emergency.

"That's not what I'm looking for at all," he said. "I'm looking for the latest issue of Tactical Weapons Quarterly. Nida said you carried it."

"Yes, we do. It's in the shelf along the back wall with the rest of the periodicals, third section from the left." Rinoa pointed toward the shelf. Squall didn't move. She reached up and gently took hold of his shoulders, then turned him in the appropriate direction. "That way. Don't worry, you won't get lost. Even if you do, Angelo's trained in search and rescue!"

Quistis watched Squall walk toward the magazine section, averting her eyes as he walked past. She finished shelving the books, then went up to Rinoa.

"Who'd ever think he'd just wander in here?" Rinoa said, smiling and biting her lower lip.

"You really flustered him," said Quistis. "I've never seen anybody blush that deeply."

"I know. Isn't it cute?"

"You definitely got to him, but I'm not sure in what way."

"Oh, I am. Though I think I'll let him cool down a bit before making another move. And now I know what types of items to order."

"Rinoa, you can't reorganize your stock based on the likes of one man you hardly know."

"I know that! But it can't hurt to have a few copies of items he might like. Something to keep him coming back."

Quistis raised an eyebrow. "And something for you to look forward to, right?"

"Exactly. Hey, you should find one for –"

"No."

Selphie dragged herself to the front of the store, her face streaked with frosting. "That's all the trash," she said. "Gosh, those kids were super messy!" She looked at the bemused expressions on Quistis and Rinoa, and drew her brows together. "What, what? Did I miss something?"

"Just a new customer for Rinoa," Quistis answered, taking Selphie by the elbow and leading her toward the door. "And now, I think it's about time we let her get back to work. She still has a few hours to go before closing."

Rinoa nodded. "Thank you both for showing up, and for helping," she said, "even if Selphie did bring her own brand of chaos to the afternoon."

"That's my trademark," Selphie boasted, grinning and walking backwards out the door. Quistis bid Rinoa goodnight, and joined Selphie on the sidewalk.

"That was quite a performance," she said.

"Thanks! I had tons of fun, and it seems like the kids did, too!"

"I feel sorry for their parents."

"Eh, they'll survive. This can't be the first time their kids have been hyper. You can't tell me that Galdan kid isn't a regular troublemaker. It's written all over his face!"

Quistis laughed, and she and Selphie chatted as they walked down the street. When they passed Qake, Selphie skipped a few steps ahead, then turned to face Quistis.

"I'm glad we have a chance to talk, Quisty," she said, "because I just got an excellent idea for my next special order, and I can't wait until Monday to tell you!"


	7. Chocobo

"Yo, what's up with that black car?" Zell asked, perched on a stool behind the register. "That's like, the third time it's gone by in the last ten minutes. Think it's Almasy?"

"I wouldn't be surprised," Quistis replied, reaching around him to pull a planner out from a compartment beneath the counter. "We have outlasted his three-month prediction, after all."

"Man, what's his problem? We're just a little bakery. I'll bet they've got about five or six bakeries inside Hyperion."

"It's not about what we are, it's about who we attract."

"Huh?"

"I hate to admit it, but I think I understand where Seifer is coming from, at least in a business sense. Think of Hyperion as a closed ecosystem: it's a massive resort that relies on internal business to recoup the costs of operation, not to mention, pay the wages of its entire staff. Qake will never challenge it directly, in terms of capital. However, our recent uptick in popularity draws in curious tourists, more and more of them from the Hyperion. They stop in for a cupcake, wander the town for a bit, and discover that they can get many of the same products and services – and even some of better quality – for far less than what they are paying at Hyperion. Every gil spent in Dollet is a net loss for the resort, and, over time, it can add up."

"So? That's business."

"Indeed. And business can be ruthless." Quistis flipped to the October pages in the planner and began looking over penciled-in orders.

Zell chuckled mischievously. "Hey, how about we start advertising for the Hotel Dollet here? That'll really tick 'im off."

"I can't lie, that is very tempting. But Seifer might take it as a direct challenge, and I'm not sure Qake could survive whatever he might do in retaliation."

"Seifer's just a royal pain in the – hey, how you doin'? Welcome back to Qake!" Zell immediately shifted into customer-service mode at the sound of the bell on the door. While he chatted with a regular customer, Quistis jotted down a list of ingredients, decorations, and hours of labor needed to fill an order due the following weekend.

The exposure gained from Selphie's parties had translated into a significant increase in business for Qake. Quistis now had more regular customers than ever before, and most weekends, she had at least one special order to fulfill. For the first time since opening the bakery, Quistis had to work with customers to schedule orders based on availability of time, labor, and supplies. She'd even had to decline an order the week before on such grounds, but offered the customer a discount on a future order in compensation and appreciation.

In the midst of this, Selphie continued to host party after party, each of varying sizes and themes, and each featuring a creation from Qake. Quistis had hoped that Selphie's relatively tame birthday order would represent a shift toward more subdued requests, but this was far from the case. In fact, Selphie's requests seemed to be getting progressively more outlandish, from an octopus built from a large round cake and seventy-two cupcakes, to the massive Snow Lion she presented to a troop of Snowflake Scouts visiting from Trabia. When Qake had few orders, Quistis gladly took on such challenges, but now that business had picked up, Selphie's wild imagination was beginning to overtax Quistis' resources.

She'd hired a part-time employee, an older woman named Darla, whose sole duty it was to help decorate and transport the special requests. Quistis wouldn't mind having extra help around the bakery on a daily basis, as well, but, as healthy as her finances had become, she was still unsure whether she could afford another full-time salary and the associated costs of bringing another employee on-board.

As a business, Qake was teetering on a delicate edge, no longer struggling, but not yet successful. In an effort to at least maintain this position, Quistis was mindful of every gil spent, every order fulfilled, every small detail of her daily offerings. Financial health had not brought her the peace of mind she believed it would; rather, it made her nervous, fearful that she'd make a single wrong move and slide back into relative obscurity and debt. The kitchen, especially in her early-morning solitude, was no longer her haven from the rest of the world, but instead, a war room. She chose or discarded recipes based on which might be most profitable, she dreamt up advertising campaigns to reach an ever-wider audience, and she kept a watchful eye on the demographics listed in the Dollet Visitor Bureau's monthly report.

All of her work was paying off. Qake was doing well, better than it ever had.

So why did Quistis feel like she was drowning?

•o•o•o•o•o•o•

"Why is there no pumpkin?" Rinoa placed her hands on her hips and gave Quistis a level stare. Beside her, Selphie did the same. "Don't you know that pumpkin is _the _fall flavor? Everyone has something pumpkin-themed right now!"

"Which is exactly why I don't," Quistis said. "Like you said, you can find pumpkin anywhere, but few places carry pear cakes with chocolate drizzle, or brown-butter pecan cupcakes with maple buttercream." She smiled and pointed to the items in the display case.

"You just have to swim against the current, don't you?"

"It's second nature. I've been doing it my whole life, and I don't think I can live any other way. So, would you like anything from here today, or would you rather patronize a pumpkin-positive establishment for the season?"

Rinoa frowned. "Cranky, today, aren't we?" she muttered, but investigated the display case nonetheless, while Selphie perused the menu.

"Not cranky, just tired. We have two large orders due on Saturday, one in the morning, the other in the evening, and we've been working on the decorations for each. Emmy has been out sick for two days, so even with Darla's help, I'm still transitioning from decorating to baking to running the shop, and back again. I've been alternating duties with Zell, but it's exhausting."

"So," ventured Selphie, a finger on her chin, "I'm guessing this wouldn't be a good time to show you my new design, huh?"

"Probably not. But I can start taking the details of your order now." Quistis pulled out her planner. "When do you want it, and for how many?"

"This one will be for about 300 –"

"How do you know so many people?"

"I don't. Not personally, anyway. This event is gonna be an afterparty for members of the Chocobo Trust. I helped set up a local chapter, and we're having a conference at the Hotel Dollet next weekend! There'll be tons of other members, some really great speakers, and a whole mess of –"

"When would you like the order?"

"A week from Saturday."

Quistis looked at an order for a birthday cake for the same day and sighed. "It seems I'll need to see your design, after all."

"Great! I've got it with me." Selphie dug around her purse and pulled out a tiny square of paper. She unfolded it multiple times, until Quistis found herself staring at five large sheet cakes laid side-by-side, each one with its own decorative theme, all tied together by a continuous winding path traversed by several chocobos.

"Pretty neat, huh?" Selphie asked. "Each cake represents an area where wild chocobos live. See, there's the forests of Centra; southern Galbadia, near Winhill; Timber; Trabia; and a special place known as the Chocobo Sanctuary, deep in the Grandidi Forest of Esthar. I think the Chocobo Trust's gonna love it! Hey, maybe you can run a promotion for them, someday."

"One thing at a time, Selphie. This is a very labor-intensive design, and I've already got a special order to fulfill that afternoon. Would you consider alterations to your design?"

"Ehhh, I'd really like to keep it the way it is, if that's at all possible. This is for an organization that's very special to me. I'd like to show them as much love as I can."

"Okay. In that case, can I ask what time you need the cake delivered?"

"Oh, that's not until late! After the conference, there's a cocktail hour, and then dinner, followed by a keynote speaker. We won't get around to the afterparty until way later, like ten or eleven."

Quistis relaxed. The late delivery would allow her more time to finish Selphie's order after the other order had been finished. She nodded and wrote Selphie's name in the planner. "That will work out fine, then. Will you be hosting the party at your villa?"

"Nope. The ballroom at the hotel."

"Even better." Quistis looked up at the sound of rhythmic tapping, and saw Rinoa repeatedly pointing to her cupcake of choice.

"This Berry Spice cupcake looks really good," Rinoa said. "And the chocolate butterfly on top is adorable! Come on, Selphie, don't you want anything?"

Selphie slid her design across the counter, then skipped to the display case. Quistis boxed up Rinoa's cupcake, and cast an apprehensive glance at the rambling, colorful sketch.

•o•o•o•o•o•o•

Quistis closed out the register while Zell painted details on a row of half-timbered houses for the Winhill portion of Selphie's design. He frowned in concentration with each brushstroke, then sat back and admired his work with a little grin. Emmy and Darla returned from delivering the birthday cake, laughing and talking with one another.

"Your Moogle cake was a hit!" Darla told Quistis, washing her hands and preparing to work on Selphie's order. "The little boy was so excited to see it."

"Oh, and the pompom," Emmy piped up.

"Yes, the pompom! You should've seen the boy's face when he realized the main cake didn't have it –"

"And he just lit right up when we brought it out. He even wanted to put it on, himself!"

"We didn't let him, of course. But I think seeing that pompom go on was the highlight of the boy's afternoon."

Quistis smiled. "It's an amazing feeling, isn't it?"

"Oh, definitely! You must be so proud, being able to deliver such happiness."

"It's not just me. Each of us has a hand in every creation we deliver, so we all should share in the feeling." She cleaned up and joined Zell at the table. "And speaking of creations, we need to get this one finished. Let's go!"

Presented together, the cakes gave a fun and playful impression that extended to Quistis' employees, whom she could not dissuade from engaging in a bit of light chocobo jousting, using wooden skewers and being very careful to not damage the fondant birds. By seven o'clock, the cakes were finished and carefully put away, and the chocobos were boxed for transport. Emmy helped with the cleaning before saying goodnight, and the remaining members of Qake took the chance to rest before the final task of their day.

They put the finishing touches on the cakes in the kitchen of the Hotel Dollet, and, at a quarter past ten, Selphie traipsed in to greet them.

"Oh my gosh, Quisty, I am so sorry that I didn't meet you guys when you got here," she said. "It's just been so hectic out there, and so productive! We've raised so much money for the Chocobo Trust already, and learned so many new things! Did you know that they've been able to discover the chocobos' social hierarchy by tracking the tagged ones? Apparently, the females live together and raise the young while the males wander alone, and – super-double-sugar-cubes, that cake looks _amazing_!"

"Thank you," Quistis said, then glanced at Darla and laughed. "This is Selphie Tilmitt," she told her. "She's always like this."

"You must be Quisty's new employee. Pleased to meet you!" Selphie shook Darla's hand, then turned back to Quistis. "Anyway, the keynote speaker just finished up – Dr. Heatherton, you should meet him. He's an older guy, but a _dandy_ one! – and they're having a short Q and A session right now. After that, we'll present the cakes. I'll keep an eye on things out there, and let you know when it's time. Thank you so much, Quisty! I know the Chocobo Trust will love the way these turned out, 'cause I sure do!"

A stillness descended in Selphie's wake. "You say she's always like this?" Darla said, still looking toward the door Selphie exited through.

"Yup," Zell replied. He leaned against a counter. "And you should see her when she's describing an order to Quistis. That lady's got a few screws loose."

"Well, maybe one or two," Quistis admitted. "But she is a genuinely nice person, if a bit hyperactive and naïve, and a loyal customer of Qake."

"You forgot _rich_."

"Yes, that too. Her orders are extravagant, but they've helped the bakery tremendously."

"And they keep getting _more_ extravagant. Quistis, when are you gonna tell her to tone it down? We've got plenty of business now; you don't have to cater to her every whim."

Quistis inspected the fondant forest of Centra. "I know that, but I like to try, out of appreciation." _Out of indebtedness_. The thought flashed through her mind, the shameful kernel of truth at the core of her relationship with Selphie. She shook it away and continued examining the cake for any need of last-minute fixes.

"Fine. But what happens when you can't, anymore?"

"I'll deal with that when the time comes. For now, let's enjoy our successes."

The silence in the kitchen grew heavy, and was broken only when Selphie poked her head through the door and motioned for them to bring out the cake. Selphie had acquired a microphone, and as Quistis and her associates wheeled the cake out to a table where the hotel kitchen staff waited to cut and serve it, Selphie described it in detail, much as she had the cake at her debut. She introduced the Qake staff to a round of applause, and, with a hearty "Booyaka!", encouraged everyone to get a slice.

Zell and Darla returned to the kitchen, and, after one final look at the cake her bakery had worked so hard on, Quistis was about to do the same, when Selphie grabbed her arm and pulled her back.

"Where do you think you're going?" she whispered.

"Home," Quistis answered. "The hotel staff will take care of service."

"What? No, you can't! You're the star of this segment."

"I'm exhausted."

"_Pssh_. An excuse."

"Selphie, I've been up for more than twenty hours. I completed two orders today in addition to my normal menu, I ran the store as I would on a regular day, and I don't have any energy to spare."

"Aww, come on, just for a little while. It'll be a good promotion for your shop."

"I've left business cards on the table."

"That's not good enough! Everybody picks up business cards and then forgets about them. I could wallpaper a room with the ones I have whose names I don't recognize anymore." Selphie shook her head. "No, you're a local celebrity now. You've gotta connect with your potential clients – chat a little, press the flesh."

Quistis grabbed Selphie's wrist and removed it from her arm. "I'd wager that was all the flesh-pressing I need to do. Goodnight, Selph –"

"Excuse me, Ms. Tilmitt?" A man approached them and Selphie turned to face him. "You are the head of the Dollet chapter of the Chocobo Trust, correct?"

"That's right!" Selphie smiled, and grabbed Quistis' wrist again as she tried to slink away. Not wanting to cause a fuss in front of a stranger, Quistis relented.

"I'd like to commend you," the man went on, "and the rest of your chapter, for putting together this conference. It's very efficiently run and accessible, and the content you've curated perfectly demonstrates the spirit of the organization. Furthermore –" he held up a fondant chocobo "—you've included some very fun touches. That's a clever way to introduce the organization to the general public."

"Thank you very much, Dr. Heatherton," Selphie said, "but I didn't do it all alone. My fellow chapter members helped with reserving the spaces and booking the speakers, and that fun cake comes from a local bakery. And I've got the baker right here! Quistis Trepe, owner of Qake. Quistis, this is Dr. Heatherton, an acclaimed ornithologist and our keynote speaker!"

Dr. Heatherton turned toward Quistis and extended his hand. "How do you do?"

"Fine, thank you," Quistis replied, smiling and shaking his hand. Dr. Heatherton was not exactly "dandy;" quite the opposite, in fact, possessing a certain ruggedness that Quistis assumed came from working in the elements to gather data for his studies. "Selphie has told me about your work, and how much she admires it."

"Let me assure you, Ms. Trepe, that I don't do my work for admiration. I do it to learn more about this highly visible but persistently enigmatic species, and to educate others on the preservation of chocobos and the environments they call home."

"A noble pursuit. And I would love to learn more about it, Dr. Heatherton, but unfortunately, you will have to excuse me. My associates are waiting for me in the kitchen, and I have a few closing duties to attend to at the bakery. It was a pleasure to meet you." She nodded at him, then made her escape as he turned his attention back to Selphie.

"What took you so long?" Zell asked, already at the door.

"Selphie," she answered, pushing open the door and letting the cool autumn air stave off her tiredness for a while longer. "Thankfully, Dr. Heatherton had her attention, so I was able to slip away. It's a bit of a shame, though, because I really was curious to hear some facts about chocobos."

"I'm sure you'll get another chance. I doubt this is Selphie's last party for the Chocobo Trust." Zell gave a dry laugh. "Wonder what she'll want for the next one. It's scary to even think about it!"

"Whatever it is, we can handle it," Quistis said, but as exhaustion crept into her muscles, she began to doubt her own words.

Perhaps Zell was right. Maybe it was time to tell Selphie to tone down her requests. Quistis needed to work in the best interests of Qake, and of her own well-being. If she presented it in those terms, she was sure Selphie would understand.

Selphie would _have_ to understand.


	8. Bellwether

Seifer Almasy did not admit to fear. To him, fear was a foreign, and frankly, useless, concept. It was just stress without results. But he did admit to frustration, and, looking over the report from Hyperion's finance department, he felt it keenly now, mingled with rage.

The resort had underperformed in the previous quarter, a first in its short history, and it was on track to do so again this quarter, perhaps to a greater degree. A breakdown of the figures showed that the hotel sector of the resort continued to meet expectations, and even exceeded them in the final month of the quarter, and the nightclub and entertainment venues performed admirably. But the restaurant and retail sectors showed significant losses. Guests were checking in, but spending their money elsewhere.

And where else, but Dollet?

Seifer looked out his office window, across the Hasberry Plains, to the mountains that shielded Dollet from the rest of the continent. His enemies lay beyond. A town of cobblestone streets and tile roofs, luring his customers away with the siren's call of sweet treats and quaint shops, the siren herself no more than an overgrown child with more influence than brains, nourished and abetted by a baker too stubborn to give up, even when her situation looked bleak. And now, they were all thriving, while he watched Hyperion's earnings dwindle.

This would not stand.

He called for his associates and continued to glare at the town in the distance until they arrived. Fujin arrived first, as usual, and stood quietly before his desk until Raijin lumbered through the door, already spouting apologies. Seifer raised his hand to quiet him, then indicated the pair of chairs in front of him. They sat down and waited while he gave the financial report one last going-over.

"Have you seen the numbers?" he asked, then slid the papers across his desk for his associates to look at.

They apparently hadn't, for they spent the next few minutes mulling over the report. Seifer watched their expressions. Though Fujin and Raijin held official positions at Hyperion, they were also, unofficially, Seifer's personal counsel. He could always count on Fujin to come up with new ideas on the spot, and Raijin's knee-jerk reactions to them helped Seifer gauge what those of the general public might be. Right now, the looks on their faces told him they understood the severity of the situation.

"NOT GOOD," Fujin said, in the curt and loud manner she had adopted for speaking with the public.

"Fujin, speak normally. Raijin and I know already know how you sound."

"Very well," she said, in a raspy voice that seemed a register too low for someone so petite. "These figures are distressing."

"Distressing? Is that all you can say?"

"Maybe it's just a hiccup, ya know?" Raijin offered.

Seifer scowled at him. "A 'hiccup' is a bad sales day," he said. "What this report shows is a bad sales _trend_. One that's gone on for months, and is still going." He sighed and ran his hand through his hair, pushing several short strands out of place. "When I envisioned Hyperion, I assured investors that we would turn a profit in three years, and I was giving myself plenty of room with that estimate. I figured a year-and-a-half, two years, tops. But here we are, one year and four months after opening, and we're _losing_ money. We are in the red and sinking fast. We have to stop the bleeding, and stop it _now_!" He slammed his hand on the desk. Raijin jumped, but Fujin eyed him calmly.

"Have you isolated the cause?" she asked.

"We all know the cause. The report just confirms it. We have guests, but no customers. They check in, then they leave for the day, and spend all of their money in Dollet. And _why_ Dollet? Because of that dinky little bakery. Some crazy heiress says she loves it, so everyone has to go try it. And then they see the other shops, and they go in, and they _spend_. By the time they get back here, they've only got enough left for a few meals, and maybe a night at the club."

"What can we do?" Raijin asked. "We can't just keep 'em locked up here, ya know? I think that's illegal."

"I know that, you dimwit! And it's not like they don't know what we offer. Our ad department has taken care of that." He looked to Fujin for confirmation.

She nodded. "We've covered every market in Dollet – radio, print, television, and targeted online advertisements – and we're currently working toward expanding into Timber and Balamb."

"Excellent. But that still doesn't solve our problem. We attract guests, sure, but how do we keep them on the property once they check in?"

"Cupcakes!" Raijin shouted, evidently pleased with his quick answer.

"We have four bakeries on the property, as well as a top-tier kitchen. We have no shortage of baked goods –"

"Yeah, but they're not fun, ya know? Qake's cupcakes sound like they taste fun. Somethin' different!"

"Whose side are you on, Raijin?"

"Y-yours, Seifer. Always will be, ya know? But ya gotta admit, Qake has somethin' we don't."

"The heiress," Fujin said quietly. She was frowning, apparently deep in thought.

"Tell me something I don't know, already!" Seifer roared. "You two are like a couple of demented parrots, spewing the same rehashed, worn-out garbage I've been listening to for months. I don't know why I keep you ar –"

"We need to influence her," Fujin continued, unmoved by Seifer's outburst.

"Haven't we been doing that?"

"No. We've been targeting her with advertisements, but we can't be certain she even pays attention to them. We need to personalize our approach."

"What's the big deal with that Selphie lady, anyway?" Raijin asked. "Yeah, she's popular, but we've got lots of celebrities at our resort, too, ya know?"

"Ms. Tilmitt is a bellwether."

"Bellwether?"

"The lead sheep in a flock. The rest follow its decision." Fujin smiled. "Influence the bellwether, and the flock is all yours."

"So if she leaves the bakery …"

"Exactly."

"I'm assuming you've figured out how to lure her away," Seifer said.

"I have, but it will require some expenditure on our part."

"I don't like that, but it might be worth the risk. Let's hear it."

"Wimbly Donner."

Raijin began to laugh. "Wimpy Dumber? Come on, Fu, quit jokin' around! Wimpy won't do anything, he just walks around with a clipboard and yells at people, ya know?"

"I don't follow you, Fujin," Seifer said, after Raijin's laughter faded.

Fujin sighed. "We all know that Ms. Tilmitt has a sweet tooth, but what does she like even more than cake?"

"I dunno," Raijin said, "pie?"

"Parties."

"Oh, yeah, totally my second guess."

"She plans those parties herself, or so it seems. And each time, she requests a special order from Qake. These orders are what have been keeping the bakery alive, and they are what make customers curious about it, when they see the pictures she posts online."

"So?" Seifer asked. "How does knowing that help us? And where does Donner fit in?"

"Ms. Tilmitt obviously loves throwing parties, and she loves having an online following. She would probably be thrilled to have a professional party planner on call, one who could not only fulfill her strange visions, but also steer her toward more 'trendy' bakeries."

"Ah. And you think Donner is the right man for the job."

"Precisely. He plans parties for many celebrities, and has suggested Hyperion to them on multiple occasions. He offers the visibility and trendiness that someone like Ms. Tilmitt can't resist, and he can lead her away from Qake, straight to the resort."

"I see. Influence the bellwether …"

"And the flock is all yours."

"But how do we make sure Donner and Tilmitt … You mentioned expenditure. Is this what you meant?"

Fujin nodded. "We pay him to meet with her."

Raijin shifted in his chair and tugged at the collar of his shirt. "I dunno, guys, that sounds kinda –"

"Brilliant!" Seifer slammed his hands onto his desk again, this time out of pure enthusiasm. "Fujin, that's a great idea!"

"Uh, doesn't he cost a lot of money, ya know?"

"Yeah, but we'll _make _a lot of money with Tilmitt and her brain-dead cohorts! Those people don't care where they are or what they do, as long as their idol is doing the same thing. Fujin, call Donner's office, see if we can arrange a meeting. Raijin, go away. I don't need you calling him 'Wimpy' by mistake." Seifer smiled and leaned back in his chair, hands behind his head, feet propped on his desk. Finally, he had a viable weapon against the threat Dollet was posing. One that self-satisfied baker wouldn't see coming.

He looked toward Dollet once more. "Good luck, Ms. Trepe," he sneered.

•o•o•o•o•o•o•

It took Wimbly three hours to return Hyperion's call.

"I was with a client," he said, sounding bored already. "What's this 'urgent matter' your people called about?"

"Mr. Donner," Seifer said, "Hyperion would like to offer you a role in a collaborative effort aimed at increasing the resort's profits and your visibility."

"I'm not interested."

"But, Mr. Donner, you haven't –"

"Mr. Almasy, I already highly recommend Hyperion to all my clients; your resort is at the top of my list. However, the last client I sent to you did complain that the crème brûlée was not caramelized to her satisfaction, so please do mention that to your kitchen staff. We will not tolerate such oversights in the future."

"We have already addressed the issue, and rest assured, that employee is no longer a part of the Hyperion family."

"Good. Now, as I was saying, I've already done plenty for your resort, far beyond my fair share."

"I'll make it worth your while," Seifer blurted out, not caring how desperate he sounded. "_Well_ worth your while."

There was silence on the other end of the line. Seifer looked at the telephone to make sure he hadn't accidentally hung up on Wimbly. The screen still showed the call as active. Seifer waited.

"I'm listening," Wimbly said at last.

"For the past four months, the Hyperion has be trying to secure a high-profile client from Dollet. However, she has not responded to our advertising campaigns –"

"That sounds like a problem with your ad team. Perhaps you should remove some of them from the Hyperion family, as well."

"I didn't call you for unsolicited advice. I know how to run my company."

"Clearly. I'm sure those disappointing figures last quarter were just a little stumble."

Seifer gritted his teeth. "Back to the point. Hyperion would like to hire you to interact with this potential client. Offer your services, influence her, bring her business to the resort."

"You wouldn't happen to be talking about that heiress, would you? What's her name, Tillman?"

"Tilmitt. And yes, that's exactly who I'm talking about."

Wimbly laughed. "I'm sorry, Mr. Almasy, but I can't see myself working with her. She's too flighty, and her idea of a party is far different from that of my other clients." He sighed. "She may have loads of money, but, unlike _certain_ individuals, I still have standards."

Seifer cursed. Wimbly clucked.

"Temper, temper, Mr. Almasy. We mustn't forget our public image."

It was Seifer's turn to remain silent. He fumed, staring across his office but seeing nothing. He'd forgotten how obnoxious Wimbly could be. But he could be just as bad, and more intimidating. He was thinking of an effective threat to make when Wimbly spoke again.

"You know what? I'll do it," he said. "I could use the challenge."

"Thank you, Mr. Donner."

"I'm also not devoid of sympathy. I hate the thought of a grown man having a tantrum in his office. Even if it was a quiet one."

Seifer chose to ignore that statement and pulled up the file Fujin had sent him earlier. It contained all they currently knew about Selphie Tilmitt, culled from her online presence and public records. "I'm sending you a file on Tilmitt. See if you can use this info to get close to her."

"You make this sound like espionage. Let me assure you, Mr. Almasy, that my social skills are far more effective in securing clients than any amount of trivial data."

"Well, it's already been sent. Do whatever you want with it." Seifer relaxed. "And thank you again, Mr. Donner. The Hyperion –"

"Tut-tut. Aren't we forgetting something?"

Seifer frowned.

"Payment," Wimbly said. "Just how much is my while worth?"


	9. Video

"Another Coffee Crumble," Quistis shouted over her shoulder as she rang up one of the last pieces of the breakfast cake for a customer.

"On it!" Zell called back, and Quistis could hear him gathering the bowls and pans in the kitchen. Beside her, Emmy furiously scooped coffee grounds into a filter and cast a glance at the line stretching toward the door. She switched on the urn and began to fill orders from the other one, trying to catch up. Weekday mornings at Qake had become hectic, and by the time the initial rush of customers had come through the bakery, Quistis and her employees were ready for a break.

One-third of a Coffee Crumble remained in the display case when the last customer in line left the shop. Emmy exhaled slowly and began wiping spilled coffee from the back counter, while Quistis collected plates and cups and Zell wiped down the tables. Rinoa, not yet ready to leave, nonetheless lifted her plate so Zell could clean beneath it.

"If there is a downside to success," she said to Quistis, "it might be that we don't get to chat like we used to."

"It's quiet now," Quistis said, balancing the bus tub on her hip and reaching for another plate. "Chat away."

"It's hard to come up with topics on command. I think a conversation should build naturally."

"Not necessarily. I know – and so do Zell and Emmy, by this point – that you're eventually going to talk about Officer Leonhart, so feel free to just jump right in."

Rinoa laughed. "Am I that predictable? I can't help it. These past few months getting to know him have been so exciting! It's like unwrapping a present that's been wrapped about five or ten times, and unwrapping it _slowly_. I pull back one little layer, and I find there's so much more I want to know!"

"Is the interest mutual?"

"I'm pretty sure it is. He doesn't express it like other guys do, but he sure seems to find plenty of reasons to come to the bookstore, and Watts and Rosalie say he only really browses when I'm there. Other times, they say he just looks through the magazines and leaves without buying anything."

Quistis handed Zell the tub and thanked him, then sat down across from Rinoa. "I suppose that's something. Looking at him, though, I never figured him for a voracious reader."

"Neither did I! But he's apparently a history buff, especially military history. I never thought I'd be grateful for anything about my father's career, but some of the details I picked up growing up with him have been very useful in engaging Squall in conversation."

"Squall. You're on a first-name basis, now?"

"Yep!" Rinoa beamed. "It's taken forever, but we got there. I think what did it was when I listed all of the ranks of the Galbadian Army, in order from lowest to highest. He said he was impressed that someone like myself would know that, and we had a little trivia competition on the spot. I even had Watts confirm our answers and keep score. Of course, when we got into deep military history and the specifics of the Estharian Army, I lost ground, but Squall said he had fun, and thanked me by name!"

"Encouraging."

"Tell me about it. And Angelo's just wild about him! You should see how excited she gets when he comes in. She'll run up to him and wag her tail, and follow him around the store. I've never seen her do anything like that for anyone who didn't have treats."

Quistis grinned. "Maybe he does, in his pockets. Charm the pet, charm the owner."

"Oh, that would be the sweetest thing ever! I hope you're right. I'm gonna think of it like that from now on." Rinoa looked at her watch and gasped. "Oh no, I'm running late! I can't sell books to a cute officer if I'm not in the shop." She smiled and thanked Quistis for her time, then rushed out the door and hastily untied Angelo's leash.

From behind the register, Emmy sighed. "It must be so nice to have the guy you like notice you."

"I'd hardly call trading military trivia the height of romance, or even an indicator of it," Quistis said, and began cleaning the display case.

"Yes, but it's _something_. And relationships can grow from that." Emmy couldn't help a glance toward the kitchen. "They can't grow from nothing."

"I'm not comfortable giving personal advice, but in this case, perhaps you'd be better off forgetting romance altogether, at least until you find a more solid possibility."

"Oh, I can't do that!" Emmy smiled. "The daydreams are too wonderful, and the little ray of hope is so exciting. They're well worth the frustration of being overlooked."

Quistis frowned, trying to understand exactly what Emmy wanted. Figuring that it wasn't worth her time to puzzle out, she shrugged. "I suppose only you can understand what makes you happy. As long as it doesn't interfere with your work, carry on."

"You really are practical. You honestly don't think about these things?"

"Not anymore."

"Anymore?"

"Contrary to what everyone seems to believe, I am not a machine, nor was I born a stick in the mud. I was just as subject to certain whims as any other young woman. And I indulged them, a few times. But each time, the man would become frustrated with the schedule I kept, working in kitchens, and with my admittedly single-minded drive to establish my own business. My dream never seemed to be compatible with anyone else's, but I wasn't going to let it go. Now, I've achieved it, and holding onto it keeps me far too busy to worry about such things anymore." Quistis swallowed hard, trying to force down the lump the lie made in her throat. It was for the best; if she couldn't remedy a situation, there was no point in pining over it.

"That's sad."

"Not at all. We each have our priorities, and Qake is mine. Whatever sacrifices I've made to get to this point have been worth it."

"Still …"

"If you're looking for something sad, a half-empty display case during the lunch rush definitely is. Let's help Zell finish cleaning so we can get started on the next batches of cupcakes. Come on."

•o•o•o•o•o•o•

Less than an hour before closing, Selphie walked backwards into Qake, talking and gesturing excitedly to her phone. She bumped into a customer, excused herself, and continued, slowly backing up against the counter.

"I wanted to give you all a Selphie-eye view of a visit to one of my favorite places in Dollet," she said into her phone. "And, except for bumping into that customer, that's pretty much it!"

"Selphie, what are you doing?" Quistis asked from the register.

"A live episode of A Day in the Life of Selphie Tilmitt! It's streaming on my website right now." She angled the phone toward Quistis, and Quistis saw several tiny hearts float up from the corner of the screen. "People really like it."

"Interesting."

"Yeah, but it's not complete without a cameo by you. Here, let me get you into the shot." Selphie moved closer to Quistis and maneuvered her phone so that both of them appeared on the screen. "Here she is. You've heard me talk about her, and you've seen her work, now meet Quistis Trepe, the owner of Qake! Wave to the camera, Quisty!"

Quistis did as she was told, and saw a string of comments pop up along the bottom of the screen: "Hi!" "Wow." "Oh man!" "I could watch her bake all day!" "Only if she bakes naked."

"Selphie!" Horrified, Quistis stepped out of the frame.

"Whoops! That one's an insta-block." Selphie chuckled nervously, swiping and tapping on the screen. "Come on, you guys know better than that!" she said to her audience, and was rewarded with another flurry of little hearts.

"If that's your fanbase –"

"Don't judge them all based on that creep. There's one – or ten – of that kind in every crowd. You just can't let them get to you."

"Easier said than done." Quistis tried to shake off the comment, and remained far outside of Selphie's filming range. "So, have you decided which flavor you want today? I have to warn you, we're out of Berry Spice."

"What? No! Can't you make more?"

"We close in forty minutes."

"I'll buy the whole batch!"

Quistis gave her a level look. "Are you sure that's what you really want? Or do you just want it because you can't have it right now?"

"Umm …" Selphie turned back to the display case, and her phone. "Yeah, I guess you're right. I'll take the Brown-butter Pecan instead. You guys sure are missing out! I wish I could share this with you over the phone. It's sooo yummy!"

"To go?"

"Nope! I wanna sit down and enjoy this so all my followers can see how tasty it is."

"Isn't that a little mean?"

"Nah, people do it all the time." Selphie sat down at a table. "Besides, I also want to talk to you about another order. I'm hosting a Battle of the Bands at my place, and I've come up with some wicked designs."

"Wicked?" Quistis raised her eyebrows.

"Yeah, as in _super awesome_. Get with the lingo, Quisty!"

"I understand the lingo, Selphie. It's simply not a term I've ever heard you use."

"Well, I've gotta get into rock-star mode to prepare for this event. It's only three weeks away!"

"Three weeks?" Quistis set down the cupcake in front of Selphie. "Let me get my planner. We may need to talk about this."

"No problem! I'll just enjoy this fluffy, sweet treat while I wait." She gave a thumbs-up to her phone screen.

Quistis pulled her planner from beneath the counter and flipped it open to the week in question. Just as she'd feared, she had two orders that weekend, including an intricate wedding cake for Mrs. Feltham's daughter. She was hesitant to turn down Selphie's request completely – after all, she owed a disproportionately large portion of Qake's success to Selphie's patronage and influence – but she wouldn't have time to work on the crazy details Selphie was no doubt going to suggest. Perhaps she could negotiate with her. Quistis took a deep breath, put on her friendliest smile, and approached Selphie.

"Wow," Selphie said through a mouthful of cupcake, "all of you are seriously missing out. This is delicious! If you ever come to Dollet – hey, Quisty! So, are you ready to hear about my design?"

"Yes, but we need to talk about scheduling and expectations first." Quistis glanced at Selphie's phone and stepped back, out of the frame. "Preferably one-on-one."

"Huh? Oh, this? Give me a second." Selphie turned back to her phone. "Well, everyone, it's been fun! But Quisty and I need to work on getting that spectacular cake ready for the Battle of the Bands, so I'll end this session now. Thanks to everyone who watched. I'll see you all later. Booyaka!" She smiled up at Quistis as she tapped on the screen, then set the phone aside, face down. "There. Now I won't be distracted by all the 'likes' pouring in."

"I appreciate that. Now, Selphie, you said this event was three weeks away. Am I correct in assuming it's on that Saturday?"

"Of course! For maximum party potential!"

"I already have several orders for that weekend. I'd really like to take yours, as well, but I need to be sure the cake is not too … outlandish. What did you have in mind?"

"Remember the cake you made for my debut? I'd like that design, but with different bands on each side." She pulled a paper from her purse with a competition bracket scrawled across it. "See, each band goes head-to-head until we have a big championship clash and declare a winner. So the bands in Bracket A go on one cake, the ones in Bracket B go on the other, and the middle cake is a big stage. I was thinking we could even put some sparklers on there, or something that makes a lot of noise and light. I saw some cute things at a party supply store. I'll bring some in, and –"

"I can't do that."

"—then we can figure out where they – what did you say?"

"I can't deliver a cake like that. Not with the other orders I have already. Maybe if you could tone down the design a bit, I'll be able to fill this order."

"Tone down? No can do, Quisty! This is a Battle of the Bands. It will be full of _rockers_, people who live on the edge, push things to their limits, destroy TVs for no reason! We have to go _big _to meet their big expectations. A tame cake might as well be no cake at all."

"In that case, no cake."

"What? But you've done this cake setup before. And I'm not even asking for trees and Blue Dragons this time. Just some guitars and amplifiers and logos of each band – hey, maybe they can be on little T-shirts, wouldn't that be cute? – and a stage with tiny monitors and maybe some working lights."

"All of those elements take time," Quistis said, as gently as she could. "And right now, my time is stretched thin between running the bakery and preparing special orders. Furthermore, our other request for that Saturday is a large and intricate wedding cake, involving both fondant and fresh buttercream decorations."

"Can't you negotiate with whoever requested that?"

"No, because when Mrs. Feltham's daughter placed her request last month, I had no other orders for that date. There was no reason to negotiate her design then, and I'm not about to call her to do so now. I'm sorry, Selphie, but this is a case of first-come, first-served."

"But my request is well within the special order timeframe. I mean, you have three whole weeks!"

"During which, I have a lot to do."

"C'mon, Quisty, the event won't be the same without a special cake! I'm sure you can squeeze our design in." Selphie laid her head on the table and looked up at Quistis through sorrowful eyes. "Please? Pretty please?"

"I'm sorry. Please understand that I appreciate your business, more than you could ever know, and that I'd love to help you, but I've just got too much other work to take on such an involved design."

Selphie snorted. "'Work.' That's your favorite word, isn't it, Quisty? That, and 'afford.' 'I have _work_ to do, I can't _afford _to have fun.' Work, work, work. Don't you have any time to _live_?"

A white-hot bolt of anger shot up Quistis' spine, directly to her brain, leaving her momentarily lightheaded. She clenched her fists and bit her lip, determined to mitigate the damage she knew this feeling could cause. Ideally, she would have walked away before this point, but Selphie didn't seem to realize that she was being serious.

"And I think it's a word you've forgotten," she said quietly. "I don't know who you were in Trabia, or how you lived, but from what I saw, I thought you at least valued hard work. But I guess I was wrong. You don't know what it means to work; apparently, you've never had to do so."

"Hey, wait a minute! I work…ed. I worked hard in Trabia. It's part of the culture up there. But I always found time for a little fun. Now, that's one word _you _don't understand!"

"I can't afford to understand it!" Quistis stood up quickly, the legs of her chair squealing against the tile floor.

"And there you go with that 'afford' again!" Selphie was on her feet now, too, gesturing wildly. "What do you even mean by that? Fun's _free_! How can you not afford –"

"Because I don't have a place to land if I fall! You can have as much fun as you like; your money will take care of you. Before that, you had a family who would do the same. Even Rinoa can afford to flirt with policemen and be selective about her stock. If her shop goes under, she can just run back home to her father. If Qake fails, I lose _everything_! That's why I can't afford to stop, that's why I can't afford to alienate customers by asking them to renegotiate orders."

"I'm just asking for a simple cake."

"It is not a simple cake. And I don't have the time to make it for you, right now." Quistis' breathing calmed, her fists unclenched, and she gave a ragged sigh. "Please understand."

"Yeah, I understand." Selphie bit her lip. "I understand that it was really easy for you to make cakes for the rich lady when your shop was struggling. But now, you've got _so many_customers, you don't need that lady anymore. Well, maybe she doesn't need you, either!"

"Selphie, no, that's not it at all! Please, stop acting childish!"

"Childish? Well, I –" A look of realization crossed Selphie's face, and whatever retort she was about to fire died in her throat. "Oh. Huh, I guess that _was _kinda childish. Sorry, Quisty."

"Apology accepted."

"And?"

"No cake. At least not with that design."

"Oh, flippin' fudge-and-sugar muffins, I thought –"

"That I was gullible, apparently." Quistis crossed her arms. "Was your apology genuine, at least?"

"Yeah." Selphie studied her boots. "I got carried away. We'll forget about cake for the Battle of the Bands, but I'm warning you, I have big, _big _plans for my New Year's celebration!"

"I appreciate the heads-up. And I truly am sorry it didn't work out this time."

"Eh." Selphie shrugged and picked up her phone. She waved goodbye – rather half-heartedly, Quistis thought – and was almost out the door, when she stopped in her tracks.

"Uh-oh," she muttered.

"What is it?" Quistis asked.

"Oh, uh, it's – it's nothing! Just a couple missed calls. From my mother. She gets mad when I don't answer. Gotta go listen to a lecture now, okay, bye!"

Through the window, Quistis saw her frantically tapping on her phone screen, her features twisted in anxiety. That was no missed call. Whatever it was, though, was Selphie's business, and Quistis tried to push it out of her mind as she straightened chairs and finished cleaning and closing up the bakery for the day.

But she couldn't forget the look of something very close to terror in Selphie's eyes.

•o•o•o•o•o•o•

Quistis' phone rang, pulling her back from the edge of sleep. She fumbled with the items on her nightstand until she found it, and answered without checking to see who the call was from.

"Quistis," Emmy said, "I'm sorry to call you so late, but something's happening."

"What is it?" Quistis was fully awake now, sitting up. "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine, but the bakery …"

A variety of scenarios rushed through Quistis' mind during Emmy's pause. Burglary, fire, vandalism. She needed to know. "The bakery _what_?"

"It's not doing too good. On the review sites. See for yourself."

Quistis got out of bed and turned on her computer. She navigated to the sites Emmy mentioned, and blinked at the numbers she saw. This morning, Qake had a respectable rating on these sites, an average of ninety-six percent satisfaction between them. Right now, that number hovered close to twenty percent.

"What happened?" she asked, hoping the problem lay on the websites' end.

"Remember that conversation you were having with Selphie today?"

"Yes."

"And remember what she was doing before that?"

"Yes … oh no, don't tell me she –"

"Forgot to stop recording. Her fans heard everything, or everything they chose to. They didn't seem to catch your coming to terms. Anyway, they went wild on Selphie's website, and now they're calling for a boycott of Qake."

Quistis frowned. "Selphie's website …"

"Please, don't look at that!"

"Why not?" Quistis input the address and hit "Enter," and immediately understood why. The comments section of the website was overflowing. Thanks to Selphie's profanity filter, Quistis was confronted by a field of consonants and asterisks, which screamed the intended words more loudly in her mind than if they had been typed in bold script.

"You looked, didn't you?" Emmy said. "Don't take it too hard. They're just a bunch of people who don't know you, and have way too much free time."

"How can I not? They're calling for a boycott of Qake. They're writing false reviews." Quistis clicked back to the review sites, and saw messages of the same spirit there. They called her horrible names, made disgusting claims about the bakery, threatened to burn the bakery down or personally harm her. Quistis ran a hand through her hair and muttered a curse.

"Quistis! I've never heard you say that. Now, don't worry. I've already contacted the site admins about the abuse and fake reviews, and they're going to look into it. It's going to be –"

"Too late. Whatever they do, it'll be too little, too late. By the time these reviews are removed, if ever, people will have read them. And we can't do anything about the comments on other sites." Quistis' stomach lurched. After all the work she'd put into her bakery, was she going to lose everything to a group of maladjusted individuals? "No," she said aloud. "No, I'm not going to let them do this to us. Thank you, Emmy, for bringing this to my attention. But I'm going to hang up now. I need to make an important call."

Selphie's phone rang several times, and Quistis was already calling her a coward by the time she answered.

"Quisty, I didn't mean for this to happen," Selphie said without preamble. "At all! I really, really, totally thought I'd hit Stop before I put the phone down. You know I wouldn't do this, right? I mean, yeah, we argued, but –"

"Call them off." Quistis didn't doubt Selphie's sincerity, but she was not in the mood to accept an apology.

"I've tried, but –"

"Call them off."

"Quisty, you don't understand. I try to talk to them, but then they say I've been paid off, they say I'm just kissing up to you to get cake, they won't listen."

"Call. Them. Off."

"I _can't_!"

The panic in Selphie's voice was genuine, and while Quistis did feel for her, she was frustrated by Selphie's lack of control over the situation. "The video was on your website, right?" she said. "You can take it down."

"I already did, the moment I realized what had happened! But someone already managed to record the stream and spread it around. And they're cutting out the ending. It's just you and me shouting at each other."

"What about your comments section?"

"I've tried, but more just keep coming in." Selphie sighed. "I don't know what to do!"

"Can you disable comments?"

"Only sitewide. But then they won't be able to comment on anything else."

"Isn't that a reasonable sacrifice?"

"Umm …"

"_Selphie_."

"Okay, okay, hold on."

Quistis heard rustling and mumbling on the other end of the call, and a few minutes later, Selphie declared that it had been done.

"But that's just on Taiga Chick," she reminded Quistis. "I can't do anything about any other sites this video might end up on. Oh, how did this happen?"

"Through your thoughtlessness! Why didn't you make sure the recording had stopped?"

"I thought I had! I was so excited about the cupcake and my cake order, I just wanted to go ahead with things. And this wouldn't be a problem if you hadn't been so _grumpy_ about everything!"

"I'm sorry, but you were not being reasonable at the bakery. Besides, I had no idea the rest of the world would hear about it."

"It's not the rest of the world. It's just my fans."

"Maybe it was, at first. But if this video is on other sites now, like you say it is, then it has already spread far beyond your little fan club." Quistis paused and tried to keep her voice level. "To the review sites, for example."

"No!"

"Yes. Qake's rating went from ninety-six percent positive reviews to twenty-three percent within the day. Your little army has brought the war to my doorstep. And that's not counting the threats they've made against the bakery, and against me."

Selphie was silent.

"Fix it."

"I told you, I can't!"

"Well, you had better try. I am not losing Qake without a fight. And I don't care who I have to fight to keep it."

Selphie gulped. "Maybe things will settle down by morning," she offered. "You know the online world, here today, gone tomorrow. It'll be yesterday's news by sunrise."

"I'd like to hope so, but I highly doubt it. I do know the online world, and their memory – and collective grudge – is long." Realizing she had nothing to gain from this conversation, Quistis bid Selphie goodnight. She returned to bed but did not sleep, unable to rest with the hateful comments and a precarious future swirling through her mind.

•o•o•o•o•o•o•

So far, the fallout from the video seemed contained to the younger set. Quistis' morning crowd appeared unaware that anything was amiss, save for the helpful accountant who pointed out an egg splattered against the corner of one window. As she worked through the usual morning rush, Quistis began to relax, and wondered whether she had blown the whole thing out of proportion the night before.

At about eleven o'clock, the first call came in. A customer claimed her teenage daughter had changed her mind "yet again," and that they would not be needing Qake's services the following weekend. Another call, another mother, another cancellation. One man told Qake his son had expressed a preference for an ice cream sundae bar for his birthday, instead of the superhero cake he'd ordered from Quistis, because his favorite comic book character liked fudge ripple cones.

"Man, that was the lamest excuse yet," Zell said, hanging up the phone. "I really hope it's the kids comin' up with this stuff, because it's all so stupid!"

"And definitely not a coincidence," Quistis said. She worked on the next batch of cupcakes, and tensed every time she heard the phone ring. When two-thirty arrived with no more cancellations, Quistis hoped the worst was over. Her lack of sleep from the night before made her limbs heavy and her head light, and she was eager to get this day over with.

She turned toward the front of the shop with a smile when she heard the bell on the door, and greeted Mrs. Feltham's daughter warmly.

"I came to talk about my order," Ms. Feltham said.

"You're not cancelling, are you?" Emmy asked, wringing the coffee-stained cloth in her hands.

Ms. Feltham laughed. "Goodness, no! Quistis always makes such wonderful cakes, I wouldn't dream of passing one up. I would just like to go over the details of the delivery. The hotel is providing full service, so you won't need to do anything more than deliver the cake. Also, could you use the back entrance? And make sure none of the packaging has the bakery's logo on it? It's just that, um, I'm going for a sleek and elegant look, and anything that might clash with it –"

"We're not welcome," Quistis said, and watched Ms. Feltham's face grow pale.

"It's not that. Well, not _exactly_, but after that video came out, you're not very popular. You see, my fiancé is a well-liked, and well-respected, man, and he's destined to go far in his field. We can't have any associations with negative publicity, even by proxy. If people found out that his wedding cake came from a bakery with such unprofessional connotations –"

Quistis held up her hand to silence Ms. Feltham. "It's fine. We'll do as you ask."

"Oh, thank you, so much! This really means a lot. I'll make sure my mother compensates you for this accommodation." She smiled warmly. "Like I said, it's really not about you, it's about the way your … notoriety might impact my future husband's professional prospects. You understand, don't you?"

What else could she do? Quistis gritted her teeth and swallowed hard. "Yes, I understand. Thank you for choosing Qake."


	10. Wimbly

Selphie squinted at the target in the shooting range behind her villa and groaned. She set down her rifle and removed her protective gear while Irvine retrieved the target, shaking his head and clicking his tongue.

"Getting rusty," he said.

"I know." Selphie sat on the grass and looked at the erratic design of holes in the target, none of which were near the center. She tossed it aside and hugged her knees to her chest.

"You aren't practicing, are you?"

"Nope."

"Too much socializing?" Irvine plopped down next to her.

"I guess."

"You're awfully quiet, today. What's wrong?"

"I had a fight with one of my friends a few days ago." She plucked at the grass. "We made up right away, but I accidentally streamed the whole thing to my fans. Now they've gone crazy, threatening her and her business, and I can't do anything to stop them."

"Which friend?"

"Quistis."

"The cake lady? Dang it, Sefie, of all the people you could mess with, why'd you choose the prettiest one?"

"Give it up, Irvy. You don't stand a chance with her, anyway." Selphie leaned over and nudged him with her shoulder. He overreacted and fell to the side, his hat tumbling off his head. "And I didn't 'mess with' her. We had an argument over a cake order, and it just kinda blew up."

Irvine sat up and brushed off his hat. "Ooh, another order! For what, your Battle of the Bands?"

"Yep. Except there won't be a cake. Quisty already has orders for that weekend. That's what started everything. Then, she called me childish."

"The nerve of that woman!" Irvine glanced at Selphie, apparently trying to gauge whether his response was satisfactory. With no reaction from her, he went on. "I don't care how good she looks, I'm gonna –"

"She was right. For the past few months, ever since I got the inheritance, everything has been so easy. People have been falling all over themselves to help me, or to be my friend. It's been 'Ms. Tilmitt, what can we do for you?', 'Selphie, I'm your biggest fan!', 'Whatever you need, just name it.' And I got used to that. I got used to walking into any shop or restaurant and asking for what I wanted, and getting it. And Qake has been no different." Selphie frowned as a memory bubbled up.

"Last month," she went on, barely above a whisper, "at the Chocobo Trust Conference, I tried to get Quisty to stay for the rest of the evening. She told me she was exhausted, and I told her that was just an excuse. Just an excuse …_ exhaustion_! Irvy, what in the world is wrong with me?"

Irvine looked her straight in the eye. "You're spoiled."

She swatted the hat off his head. He picked it up and brushed it off again, then continued. "Face it, Sefie, you got used to getting whatever you want, whenever you wanted it. I can't blame you; it seems like a swell way to live. But I think you forgot a lot of stuff about who you were before your dear Uncle Rendel kicked the bucket. Not the least of which, you forgot how to shoot!" He grabbed the discarded target and shoved it in her face.

She ripped the target from his hands, balled it up, and threw it over her shoulder. "I hate it when you're right."

"So, what're you going to fix first?"

"I definitely need to find a way to help Quisty. I need to get my followers off her back." Selphie rose and dusted the seat of her pants, then put her shooting glasses back on. "But first, I need to get Selphie Tilmitt back. The _real_ Selphie Tilmitt. Irvy, set up the target. I'm not leaving here until I hit that bullseye ten times in a row!"

•o•o•o•o•o•o•

The bell above the door tinkled as Selphie walked into Qake. Zell broke off his greeting when he recognized her, and glared at her until she reached the counter.

"You've got a lot of nerve comin' here, after what you did," he said.

"I didn't do anything. It was all an accident that got way out of hand." Selphie looked over the menu.

"Easy for you to say. You don't have to face any consequences."

"Yes, I do!"

"What, you're not Miss Popular anymore? _Pfft_, big freakin' deal. Quistis is losing business and getting threats. Try walking in her shoes for a bit."

Selphie sighed. "I know. I know I messed up, big time. And I have to make it right, but I don't know how."

Zell grinned. "A little money never hurt."

"I tried that. A few days ago, I told Quisty that I could cover everything that Qake is losing, and then some, but she didn't want my money."

"I'll take it."

"Really?" Selphie reached inside her purse and grabbed a handful of large-denomination notes. She placed them in Zell's hand and smiled. "Go right ahead, then! Please! The guilt has been killing me!"

"What? No! I was just joking! I can't take your money." He shoved the notes back at her, but kept eyeing them longingly.

"Sugar-frosted snowflakes, you people are stubborn! C'mon, Zell, you work hard. You deserve this. Just take a few. Think of it as a tip." She slid several notes toward him.

"In that case, they go in the jar." Zell took the notes and deposited them in their proper place. "But don't think this gets you off the hook!"

"I know it doesn't."

"Good. Now, are you gonna buy anything, or did you just come to grovel?"

Selphie rolled her eyes at him and turned to the display case. She was mulling over the cupcakes when Quistis came out of the kitchen and greeted her.

"Hey, Quisty. How are you doing?"

"Considering the circumstances, fine, I suppose," Quistis answered. "We've only had two cancellations this week and one incident of non-permanent vandalism to the shop. The online threats are quieting down, and I'm hoping the worst is over."

Selphie winced. "That doesn't sound fine to me."

"What else can I say? The fallout from that video really struck Qake hard. At this point, if we haven't lost anything by the end of the day, I consider that day a massive success." She smiled. "Redefining my standards has helped immensely during all of this."

"Ugh, Quisty, you don't have to keep acting so _brave_ about it."

"Acting?"

"Yes, acting. I know you're putting on a front. I know it must be super terrifying to be you right now. It's okay to admit that. It's okay to accept help."

"I appreciate your concern, but –"

"Then let me help!" Selphie pulled out her phone. "Look, I can make a video, right here and now, telling everyone that I was wrong, and that I'm still a proud customer of Qake!"

"Please don't."

"Why not?"

"You tried something similar two days ago. How did it turn out?"

"Um … they called me a sell-out. They called me a corporate shill. But Quisty, you're not even a corporation!"

"It doesn't matter to them, especially if they're your fans. I shouted at you, and they heard it. Right now, that makes me the enemy. And by referencing the bakery or me, no matter how noble your intentions, you're just keeping the incident fresh in their minds, and possibly hurting your own image, in the process."

"What are you getting at?"

"It might be best to lie low, at least for the time being."

"Lie low?" Selphie looked at her reflection in her phone's darkened screen. "So, you mean, no cupcakes?"

"I'm more than happy to sell you cupcakes," Quistis said, a soft laugh rippling through her words. "I simply meant that you might want to dial back your online presence and give this whole thing a chance to blow over."

"But it's been almost a week already! How much longer do you think it'll take?"

"I wish I knew. Eventually, though, people will find something else to talk about, something else to get angry over." Quistis took Zell's place at the register and motioned for him to take his break. "Until then, I hold on and you lie low."

"Something else to talk about," Selphie mused, returning to the cupcakes. That was it. All she had to do was find something to supplant that video in the minds of her audience. Something more exciting than a stressed-out baker. Something with a willing audience. Something like the Battle of the Bands.

Competitions of any kind were always chock-full of drama. Rivalries, high-stake dreams, clashing egos … plenty to get people's tongues wagging. Maybe she could document all that … maybe she could broadcast it live. With behind-the-scenes interviews packed with loaded questions. Yes, that was it! She congratulated herself and began tapping an inquiry for production companies into her phone's search field.

As she scrolled through the results, she became aware of a strange prickling sensation between her shoulder blades, as if someone was watching her from behind. She turned around and made eye contact with a man in a suit sitting at a table near the door. He flicked his gaze back to the newspaper he was reading, and Selphie went back to her phone. Then, she felt it again. Another glance, more eye contact, then back to the newspaper and phone screen. The third time it happened, she smiled at him, and he returned the gesture.

"Have you decided yet?" Quistis' question startled Selphie, and her phone clattered to the floor. Chuckling and blushing, Selphie retrieved it, then pointed to her cupcake of choice.

"To go," she said, then leaned across the case. "By the way, Quisty, who is that guy? The one in the suit."

Quistis didn't spare the stranger a look. "He's a traveler from Deling City. He's been here all morning. He said he's waiting for check-in to begin at the hotel."

"Hmm. If that's true, then where's his luggage?"

Quistis shrugged. "Probably at the hotel. I do believe they'd hold it for him." She finished boxing up the cupcake and moved to the register.

"He's kinda cute, don't you think?"

"Not particularly." Quistis extended her hand for payment and sighed. "You and Rinoa really are something. You see a pleasant face, and everything else flies out of your minds."

"Nuh-uh," Selphie insisted, paying for her cupcake and shoving more money into the tip jar. "I remember very well what I was thinking about. I know a way to take the attention off of that video and off of those bad reviews of Qake. I only need a little time, and the right people. Just you wait, Quisty; in a couple of weeks, battling band drama will have taken over, and everyone will forget all about you!"

"That's not an ideal situation, either, Selphie."

"Oh, you know what I mean! They'll forget about this whole mess. I said I'd make it better, and I will. You can count on me!" She grabbed her cupcake and headed toward the exit, glancing up from her phone to cast one more grin at the stranger by the door.

•o•o•o•o•o•o•

Five curse words in a row. It was a record for the evening, so far, and Selphie mentioned this to Steel Moomba's drummer.

"Ah, thanks, lady," he said. "I like to keep my language skills sharp, y'know? Anyhow, where was I? Oh, yeah, DeathMoogle is a cheap, tawdry little act that should stick to buskin' on street corners! You can add 'death' to anything, but if you don't got edge, you don't got edge, y'know? What can you expect from guys who got their start playin' kids' birthday parties?" He jabbed a finger toward the camera. "Yeah, you heard me! They even wore Moogle costumes. Those spineless scum-suckers are goin' _down_ tonight! Steel Moomba rules!" He made a rude gesture, then stalked off.

"Well," Selphie said brightly, turning to the camera, "that sure was a spirited assessment of the competition from Steel Moomba's drummer. We're going to send it back to Irvy and the audience now, but stay tuned for DeathMoogle's response, plus a one-on-one with Yesno-Maybeso's Katerina about her recent breakup! Irvy, take it away!"

Selphie motioned for the cameraman to cut, and relaxed. She had no idea running a livestream of the Battle of the Bands would be so exhausting, even with a top-tier production group at her disposal. Between hosting and interviewing, she hadn't had a spare moment to herself. There was a _party_ going on all around her, and she couldn't enjoy it.

_Is this how Quisty feels at events? _The thought crossed Selphie's mind, but she doubted the situation was exactly the same. Quistis didn't seem to be a natural partier, so she probably wasn't as perturbed to remain on the sidelines as Selphie was. Selphie didn't know how she could stand it; it was such a mega-bummer.

She needed a break, and some food, so she dismissed the cameraman for a half-hour and wandered over to the vendors. She spotted Rinoa there, nibbling on chips and having an animated conversation with someone standing next to her.

"Seriously!" Rinoa said. "That was such bait-and-switch marketing. Why did they say they were environmentally friendly and then fill their dog beds with such heavily-processed materials? No wonder Angelo never got near it. I took it back to the store the moment I found out, and – Selphie! I didn't think I'd get a chance to talk to you tonight. You've been running all over the place. Did you finally shake the cameraman?"

"Nah, I'm just on break." Selphie slid some money across the counter and watched as they piled a sandwich bun high with meat for her. "I haven't even had a chance to gauge the crowd's reaction. I hope they're enjoying this."

"I think they are. I know I am. The audience is having a lot of fun, and the music has been great! Who's up next?"

"Um … Darby and the Manwolf. They absolutely _rock_. Just wait 'til you hear Manwolf's howl live. Irvy's emceeing this segment, and he's been practicing a howl like that for days." She took her sandwich and licked her lips. "He's gonna make a fool of himself."

"And you're going to let him?"

"Oh, Irvy doesn't mind. He loves attention, no matter how he gets it. Besides, there'll be plenty of girls online who'll feel sorry for him and send him messages; I think sympathy is his favorite angle to work. By the way, I wonder how the livestream is doing. I hope that last interview didn't turn people off. Steel Moomba's drummer has a _filthy_ mouth!"

"I think that's the kind of content that'll get your followers talking about something new."

"Booyaka! My plan is working!" Selphie was scanning the area for a place to sit and eat, when the person who had been talking with Rinoa spoke up.

"Selphie Tilmitt," he said, stepping into the light of the vendor's sign. "It's a pleasure to finally meet you."

Selphie's heart skipped, then sank. It was the stranger she'd seen in the bakery about two weeks ago, but he didn't look half as good as she remembered. Maybe it was the casual clothes he wore now . Nevertheless, she smiled at him. "Hey, I know you! You're the guy who was staring at me at Qake, a couple weeks ago!"

"Perhaps. I did visit several bakeries during my first days here. My name's Wimbly Donner. I'm an event planner from Deling City, and I was hoping I'd have a chance to speak with you during my trip. My card."

Selphie accepted his business card. "Event planner," she read, "and 'arbiter of taste?' Says who?"

Wimbly chuckled. "Your skepticism is understandable. However, Ms. Tilmitt, I have been in my line of work for over a decade, and in all that time, I've kept my finger on the pulse of celebrity trends. It's one of the elements of my success. Do you remember the carnelian craze, about two summers ago?"

"No. I was still in Trabia. I didn't keep up with celebrity trends, and I definitely couldn't afford to follow them then."

"You missed out. There were some stunning pieces made for the cream of the celebrity crop. I bring this up, simply because I called it. I was organizing an event for a well-known actress – I can't say who – and I noticed the fine carnelian necklace she wore to our first meeting. I advised her to make this the centerpiece of her party outfit, and let the other attendees burn with jealousy. Two days later, the jewelers could not keep up with orders for that precious stone."

"Uh, good for you, I guess." Selphie spotted an empty table and headed for it. Wimbly followed.

"Ms. Tilmitt, let me apologize. I believe our conversation drifted far away from what I intended. While I _am_ an arbiter of taste, my main role remains event planner, and I have been eager to work with you, ever since I saw your eye-catching arrival in Dollet!"

"Work with me?"

"Yes. I see that you love parties and other social events, and many of them seem fun, and mildly successful."

"Mildly?" Selphie took a bite of her sandwich. "Let me tell you, Wimbly, that my parties have been _total_ successes, each and every one!"

"Personal successes, I'm sure. But what about public image successes? Don't think I don't know about that little … _hiccup_ in your popularity."

"You too, huh?" Selphie frowned. "That's why I went for a livestream tonight. I'm hoping all the dirt and spectacle will give my followers something else to gossip about. They've really been unfair to Quisty; all she did was call me out for acting like a spoiled brat."

Wimbly looked around. "And yet, I don't see 'Quisty' here tonight."

"Yeah, she had another order already scheduled. A wedding."

"That is unfortunate, but a risk inherent in relying on a small business. Have you ever thought about approaching another baker?"

"No way! Quisty is my friend, and the best baker in Dollet. I wouldn't dream of going anywhere else for my cakes."

"I won't argue with her talent. The cupcakes I had at her bakery were very tasty. But I wouldn't recommend her to my clients."

"Oh? And why not?" Selphie gulped down another bite. "Is Qake not good enough for you?"

"Your baker friend is technically proficient, but dreadfully boring. Her designs are fine for the average consumer, but you, Ms. Tilmitt, are not average. You're a celebrity, a star, one whose parties deserve to be graced by the presence of A-list celebrities, people who share your passions and dreams!"

"You're drifting off the rails again, Wimbly. What's so wrong with Quisty's cakes?"

Wimbly tapped a finger against his chin, as if trying to decide how to word his next statement. He opened his mouth, shook his head, and thought some more. Then, he folded his hands on the table and looked at her. "Correct me if I'm wrong," he said slowly, "but didn't Quisty tell you to tone down the design you requested for tonight?"

"Yeah. But that's 'cause she had that other order." Selphie rolled her eyes. "Keep up, Wimbly."

"No, it's because she doesn't have _vision_. An artist with vision, be they baker or painter or pianist, will always adapt. They will never discourage their patrons; they will find ways to dazzle, even if it kills them. Your Quisty has skill, to be sure, but no vision; you have that vision, but lack the skill to make it reality. Do you see the problem here?"

"That's enough!" Selphie stood up, and flung her half-eaten sandwich into the trash. Wimbly was making her sick. "There is no problem. Quisty's always done a good job on my orders. And she does have a point: maybe I do need to tone down my requests."

"Never!" Wimbly leapt to his feet, and placed his hands on Selphie's shoulders. She stiffened at his touch, her lip curling in distaste. "You are a celebrity," he said, "and it is not your responsibility to tone anything down. You have a right to see your dreams become reality, and I can help you with that. Besides, you wouldn't want to place undue burden on your friend, would you?"

"Oh. I never thought of it like that." Selphie slid Wimbly's hands off of her shoulders, one at a time. "Quisty's never _said_ I'm a burden, but I know she works hard to get the supplies and make the wacky decorations I ask for. And my plans for New Year's … _yikes_!"

"What did you have in mind?"

"I was thinking of a cake taller than myself! It would have sparklers, and maybe edible confetti. I saw something on a television show where the cake actually had moving parts, like a spinning top layer, and tiny glitter canons – those would be perfect for New Year's!" Selphie began gesturing, her discomfort with Wimbly melting away in the rush of unbridled creativity. "And maybe it could have a little alarm, or something, that would ring at midnight. I love New Year's! There's so many things you can do with it!"

Wimbly watched her calmly. "True. But how many things can Qake do?"

"Oh, I'm not going to ask Quisty for all that! I don't think she can make moving cake parts."

"But I know someone who can."

"What?"

"I know the cake you mentioned seeing on television, and I've worked with the baker who made it. Don't look so surprised. I told you that I'm well-connected."

Selphie stared at him. He knew a baker who could make the craziest cake she'd ever dreamed of. How in the world could she pass that up? She felt guilty considering this other baker at all, but she let Wimbly's words rationalize her thoughts. An order like this really would be a burden on Quisty, and it might lead to another argument. Wouldn't it be best to avoid that? Besides, she didn't need to leave Qake out completely. She was planning a _big_ party, the biggest she'd thrown yet, and she was sure there'd be plenty of room for some tasty cupcakes.

"Do you think this baker would agree to it?" she asked slowly.

"I'm sure he would. He serves all the celebrities in Deling City, and he's used to unconventional requests. It will take some scheduling to get him here on the holiday, but if we work quickly, I'm sure we could secure his services."

"That would be awesome."

"I'll call him in the morning, then." Wimbly smiled. "I assume this means we'll be working together?"

"For my New Year's party, at least." Selphie shook his hand, then wagged her finger at him. "But you have to stop putting down my friends. Quisty is a top-notch baker; I just don't want to overwork her."

"Understood. Now, about the venue … a cake taller than you would look very out of place here." He gestured to the expanse behind the villa where the Battle of the Bands continued.

"Oh, it won't be here, it will be inside my villa."

"For how many people?"

"A few hundred, maybe."

"Won't it be a little cramped?"

"There's the courtyard, too!"

"In the dead of winter?" Wimbly shook his head. "No, no, Ms. Tilmitt, a cake like that deserves to be in a comfortable, trendy setting, one where it can be leisurely admired. Have you considered hosting any of your parties at the Hyperion? They have lovely venues for gatherings of all sizes, and the most accommodating staff. I just organized an event there last weekend."

"The Hyperion?" Selphie blinked. She'd known about the resort before she moved to Dollet, but she'd never considered hosting a party there. From its advertisements, the place always looked too sleek, too _fake_ for her liking. It was somewhere people went just to be seen and maybe do a few things they'd regret the next day. And, once she and Rinoa became friends, she heard a lot more about it. How it leeched tourists away from Dollet, how that affected the businesses in town. She was already part of one big problem right now, why should she get involved in another? Unless …

She faced Wimbly directly. "Two of my best friends are business owners here in Dollet," she began, "and they've told me what the Hyperion has done to this town. So, normally, I'd tell anyone who mentioned Hyperion to take a running jump off a cliff. I have a better idea, though. You say you have connections. Is the head of Hyperion one of them?"

"Mr. Almasy? Indeed. I speak to him frequently."

"Good, because I'd like to have a little talk with him, too."

"I-I'm sure I can arrange that."

It was the first time she'd seen Wimbly falter. "Can you, really?"

He drew himself up, his confidence returning. "I assure you, Ms. Tilmitt, whatever you request, I can deliver. If you want a meeting with Mr. Almasy, I can set that up. His schedule permitting, of course. He is a _very _busy man."

"It must take a lot of time to count all the gil his resort takes from this town." Selphie smirked as Wimbly squirmed. "All right, Mr. Party Planner, there you have it. I want the cake, and I want one of the best event rooms in the Hyperion. And I want to talk with this Almasy guy and tell him to leave Dollet's business owners alone. Maybe we can even all work together, instead of fighting over the tourists and their money."

"Thank you, Ms. Tilmitt. You will not be disappointed."

"I'd better not be, because you don't get paid until I get everything I want." She stuck her nose in the air and walked away. If there ever was a proper time to act spoiled, she'd found it. She felt a stab of guilt as she waved to Rinoa in passing, but she was sure that once she spoke to Mr. Almasy, Rinoa, Quistis, and the rest of the downtown Dollet business district would fare better than they ever had before.

Sometimes, she figured, you need to infiltrate the enemy's compound. Infiltrate and influence. And no one could do that better than Selphie Tilmitt.

"Sefie!" Irvine rushed up and grabbed her arm, hissing her name through his teeth. "Where the heck were you? You wanted to announce the next act, and they've been ready to go for almost ten minutes!"

"What? Yikes!" Selphie jogged the rest of the way to the stage, stopped to catch her breath, and apologized to the band waiting in the wings.

"Sorry about that delay, folks!" she told the audience as the spotlight found her. "I took a little snack break, and got carried away. That sandwich was way too yummy!" Light applause absolved her of her minor misstep. "Anyhow, even though I know the hostess shouldn't have favorites, I have a really big soft spot for this next group. I know all their songs by heart, and I even have a signed photo of the guitarist. Joining us all the way from Trabia, everybody please welcome Mach Chocobo!"

As the band took the stage, Selphie scampered off, and began preparing for another round of interviews. She spotted Wimbly at the edge of the audience, arms crossed, chewing on his lip and nodding along to the music. She'd given him a tall order, and she assumed he must be trying to figure out how to fill it at that very moment.

She'd make him earn his bragging rights, _and_ she'd get Almasy off Dollet's back.

Infiltrate and influence.

Selphie Tilmitt was back.


	11. Invitation

Though the threats had died down, Quistis' knife felt heavy in her palm. For the past two years, the knife had been a comfortable companion on her early-morning walk to the bakery, a safeguard against trouble. But in the aftermath of the video, as the possibility that she would need to use it became very real, she became acutely aware of its weight, its shape, its terrible potential in her hand. She was glad to slip it into her purse as she locked the kitchen door behind her, glad to put it out of her mind for another day.

She removed her coat and hat, shaking off the early-December chill, and got to work. Qake had not fully recovered from the poor reviews and call to boycott, and, as a consequence, had missed out on the last surge of high-season tourists. Quistis hoped those who visited during the off-season would be calmer, more discerning, and not as easily swayed by online chatter as their summer counterparts. She still needed their business; her bookkeeping figures were not as healthy as she'd hoped.

She should have been more cutthroat, she admitted to herself as she poured batter into paper cups. She should have depersonalized her business interactions, and made her prices non-negotiable, regardless of customer loyalty or individual financial situations. It may have cost her a few points in the likeability department – which she lost anyway, thanks to that video – but it would have given her a larger margin for fluctuations in traffic. Instead, she'd tried to be both a professional baker and everybody's friend. A discount here, a twinge of sympathy there, a heaping scoop of hubris throughout, and Qake's safety net wasn't as sturdy as she'd believed it was. The wave of last-minute cancellations tore a hole through its center, and she was left scrambling to curb her losses.

Yet, she was determined to remain positive, and to keep as much of this troublesome information from her employees as possible. When Zell and Emmy expressed concern over the bakery's winter hours, she reminded them that she had made the same adjustment the year before. When she cut back on the more expensive recipes, she explained it as catering to the customers' tastes, since many of the best-selling cupcakes were relatively simple. And when they passed their third weekend in a row with no special order to prepare, she reminded them that birthdays and holidays come only once a year, and weddings far less frequently than that.

It seemed to work. Aside from the occasional worry or frustration with a rude customer, Zell and Emmy's spirits did not flag, and their enthusiasm strengthened Quistis' resolve to push forward. Now, they walked into the kitchen, in the midst of a lively debate over the latest episode of some TV show, cleaning up and putting on their aprons without missing a beat. They listened as Quistis rattled off the day's recipes and assigned them their duties, then resumed their discussion as they worked, trading analyses, barbs, and more than a few jokes.

Life returned to the kitchen, and Quistis brightened in its warmth. Whatever had happened and whatever lay ahead, they would persevere. Qake would not fail. And though she might stumble, Quistis would not stay down.

•o•o•o•o•o•o•

"Ooh, you have hot chocolate cupcakes!" Selphie bounced on her toes at the display case. "I'll take two, to go!"

"That seems to be your new routine," Quistis remarked, reaching for the cupcakes.

"Heh, I guess it is. I'm just so busy these days, I hardly have time to sit down to a full meal, let alone a cupcake, even though all your cupcakes are super delicious." Selphie glanced at Quistis, then let her gaze wander the bakery as she continued. "My Battle of the Bands was such a success, I wanna make it an annual event, and that means I've got to start planning right away! Plus, I've been busy with fundraising for the Moomba Rights Organization, and planning next year's Chocobo Trust Conference, and, oh yeah, I'm getting back into shooting!" She gave a strained chuckle. "So, yeah, super busy!"

"Indeed! Quistis smiled. "I suppose I should be glad you even have time for a takeout order."

Selphie's grin disappeared. "I'll always have time for Qake," she said, more solemnly than the conversation dictated. She widened her eyes and leaned toward Quistis, her hands leaving streaks on the display case. "Don't ever doubt that. You're my friend, and I would never abandon you. Besides," she went on, her expression brightening, "I don't think I could survive very long without one of your mega-tasty cupcakes!"

It was Quistis' turn to laugh uncomfortably. Selphie was behaving more oddly than usual, and had been since the day after the Battle of the Bands. Whatever might have happened at the event, she was unwilling to talk about it, and Quistis could only hope her situation would improve on its own.

"And just how many of these 'mega-tasty' cupcakes will you be needing for your big New Year's bash?" Quistis asked, trying to lighten the mood. "Or will you want a cake, instead?"

Selphie looked at the floor and chewed her lip. She clasped her hands behind her back and rocked from side to side, making a series of noncommittal noises. "Um … er, I'm not sure I'm gonna have a party for New Year's," she said.

"Are you serious? That's the biggest party time of the year."

"I know. And I _want_ to celebrate, and celebrate big. But I also don't want to ask you for too much, especially with so little time left."

"Nonsense. New Year's is three weeks away. While that might be a tight window for procuring supplies, I'm sure we can fulfill your request if we start soon."

"Yeah, well, maybe it'd be better to have a smaller celebration a little bit later. Like, Happy Belated New Year! I can make a new holiday! I won't have to compete with other parties for guests, and you can have a decent rest."

Quistis narrowed her eyes. "Why the sudden concern for my well-being?"

"I realized something a while ago. My orders were super crazy, and really close together, and I think I was taking advantage of your business."

"Again, nonsense. That's what I'm here for."

"I don't want to overwork you."

"You wouldn't. Qake closes early for the holiday. It wouldn't be an imposition at all."

Selphie paid for her cupcake and smiled. "I guess it wouldn't be right not to have a party on the _partiest_ night of the year. I'll think about it, and see if I can come up with anything that's not too outrageous, but still screams, 'Selphie Tilmitt!'"

"I'm looking forward to working with you again."

"Uh, yeah, me too. It'll be just like old times!" Selphie chuckled again, then bid Quistis goodbye and carried her cupcakes out of the bakery as carefully as if they were a pair of porcelain figurines.

•o•o•o•o•o•o•

After two weeks of waiting for Selphie's order, Quistis had to admit that, strange as it seemed, Selphie was serious about skipping a New Year's Eve party. She still visited Qake almost daily, to stock up on hot chocolate cupcakes, but she seemed to be in a hurry now more than ever before, and the amount of eye contact she maintained with Quistis during their brief conversations decreased each time. She was fidgety, and evasive in regard to personal questions. Quistis tried to give her the benefit of the doubt, but with each visit, she felt more and more certain that Selphie was hiding something from her.

Late yesterday morning, however, Selphie appeared more relaxed, closer to her usual cheerful self than she'd been for the past month. She ordered a half-dozen cupcakes of different flavors and tossed a handsome tip into the jar, wishing Quistis a "booyaka kind of day," and telling her that very soon, everything would be better.

"Better than ever before!" she said, giving an enthusiastic thumbs-up as she exited the bakery.

Quistis shook her head and assumed that Selphie had spent the early part of the day sampling spirits for her own private New Year's Eve celebration. And since Selphie had yet to show up today, Quistis figured she must have been right.

She was preparing a batch of cupcakes for the lunchtime crowd when she heard Zell shout in surprise. She looked up as Emmy ushered him into the kitchen, then turned her task over to him when Emmy signaled for her assistance at the front of the store. Before Emmy could explain the situation, Quistis saw the doors of a black car open, and a trio of suited figures approach the bakery. She thanked Emmy for getting Zell out of their way, and steeled herself for another visit from Seifer.

He flung the door open with more force than was necessary, sending the little bell above it into a frenzy, then strode through, Fujin and Raijin trotting in behind him.

"Well, well, Ms. Trepe," he said. "What's this I hear about reduced hours?"

"Good morning, Mr. Almasy," Quistis replied calmly. "Qake is operating on winter hours right now. It's a seasonal adjustment, nothing more."

"Is that so? It wouldn't have anything to do with that unfortunate incident a couple months ago, would it? I know operating costs can be high, even for a rinky-dink little shop like this. A few cancelled orders, and it's hard to keep the lights on."

"An astute observation. But winter is traditionally a slow season for tourists in Dollet. Reducing open hours during this time is simply a good business practice." She crossed her arms. "Now, please state the purpose of your visit."

"Purpose?" Seifer appeared hurt. "Does one need a purpose to visit Qake, other than to peruse your goods and bask in your lovely presence?"

"Shove it, Almasy!" Zell called from the kitchen. Quistis heard rapid shuffling back there, followed by a muffled sound of pain from him.

"Ah, I see you've still got chicken-boy on your payroll. Maybe his _offensive_ presence is keeping customers away."

"You want offensive? Gimme a sec, I show you offensi – _ow_! Emmy, what the _heck_?"

Quistis sighed. "Perusal of goods usually ends in a purchase," she said, "and flattery is not acceptable payment. Perhaps you'd like to let Raijin buy something. We have hot chocolate cupcakes now, topped with toasted marshmallow crème." She noticed Raijin's eyes light up, and smiled as he peered at the display case over Seifer's shoulder.

Seifer frowned. "Stop tempting my associate."

"Then state your business."

"A year-end check-up. Still got a few thorns in my side, apparently."

"Really. And what's the prognosis?"

He grinned and towered over her. Her muscles tensed and her stomach turned, but she did not lean away from him. "Clear by the new year," he said.

"I'd recommend seeking a second opinion."

Seifer's shoulders shook with quiet laughter. He shook his head and raised his hand as he began to laugh louder, eventually building into roar that his associates awkwardly parroted. He stopped suddenly, and slammed his hand on the counter. Quistis flinched.

"Ms. Trepe, you are hilarious. Why does no one ever mention that about you?" he said. He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a small card. "Nevertheless, I'm sure you'll be thrilled to know that I _do_ have a second opinion, though not from someone I'd have ever expected, and it confirms my results. This little wonder crossed my desk recently, courtesy of Hyperion's event planning department, and I thought you might like to see it, too."

He laid the card on the counter, face-down, and slid it toward Quistis. She picked it up and turned it over. As her mind registered the words printed there, her heart sank and her limbs went hot. It was an invitation made by Hyperion's in-house planning services, for a New Year's Eve party at the resort:

**You are cordially invited to Selphie Tilmitt's**

**Sensational Super-Colossal New Year's Eve Soiree**

**December 31****st****, Seven to Whenever**

**Theia Ballroom, Hyperion Hotel & Resort**

**RSVP to Wimbly Donner, Event Planner**

**See you there!**

Quistis read the invitation over twice more, blinking and swallowing hard. No wonder Selphie had been acting so strangely. How long had she planned to keep up her charade with Qake? Quistis set her jaw and looked up at Seifer, but for once, she was at a loss for words.

Seifer, on the other hand, was not. He smiled wider and tapped the invitation.

"Checkmate."


	12. Contract

"I wasn't aware we were playing a game," Quistis said at last, laying down the invitation, "which is the only reason you could ever believe you've won. But now that you've established that it _is_ a game, how do I know you're not bluffing? How do I know any of this is real?"

Seifer snorted. "Simple. You ask. Next time she comes in, get the facts straight from the horse's – er, heiress' – mouth."

"I suppose I'll have to." A bitter taste crept up the back of Quistis' throat, but she drew her shoulders back and tried to appear unaffected. "And, now that you've completed your business here, I suppose you'll be leaving."

"Who said I was done?"

"You've come to show me that you've secured the biggest client in Dollet. I don't see what more we have to discuss."

"Plenty." Seifer turned toward Fujin and held out his hand. She placed a stack of papers there and stepped back as he faced Quistis once more. "I'm a winner, but a gracious winner. I know things are about to get very rough for you, without Tilmitt's business, so –"

"Not necessarily. Qake survived before she came to Dollet, and we've been doing fine without any recent orders from her."

"Oh, please. I saw the kinds of figures this bakery posted before Tilmitt got here; you were barely hanging on. And I think you're forgetting Tilmitt's biggest asset: her influence. You thought traffic was slow before; just wait until her followers flock to the Hyperion and forget all about this town."

"We'll manage. I am a professional, and my business will adapt to the changing conditions."

Seifer chuckled. "Your bravery is cute, but hollow. Come on, even _you_ don't believe what you're saying."

Quistis glared at him, trying to keep her breathing under control, and decided to let him finish whatever he came to do. It seemed the quickest way to make him leave.

"As I was saying," Seifer went on, "losing Tilmitt's business is a huge blow to a puny little shop like this. She goes to Hyperion, her fans follow, Dollet becomes a fad of the past. You might coast for a while on what you made from all those orders, but pretty soon, things'll get tight. Your regulars come in, buy their cupcake and their coffee, but it's not enough anymore. You'll cut hours, you'll cut staff – not that you have any to spare, except maybe chicken-boy – until there's nothing left. If I had to guess, I'd say you won't last the next year."

"It's a good thing you don't have to, then. Your last prediction was laughable."

"It's like you didn't hear a word I said. You're going down, Trepe. You can't afford to be hostile. Especially not toward someone who can save you."

"Save me?" Quistis burst into laughter. "I fear you've fallen victim to your delusions of grandeur, Mr. Almasy. I don't need saving."

"When this place goes under, you'll change your tune. It'll happen. And what will you do then?"

"For the sake of argument, I'll indulge your prediction. So, Qake fails. I'll survive. I will pick up a job somewhere, like I did before, and I will start over." She looked him in the eye. "But that's not going to happen."

"You're the delusional one. Your optimism is sickening. I'm offering you a chance at financial security, and all you do is fight me!"

"You haven't offered me anything."

Seifer slammed the stack of papers onto the counter. "Here."

Quistis noticed the veins in his neck bulging, and smirked. Whatever business advantage he might gain from Selphie's patronage – if that part was even true – she was clearly gaining the upper hand in this interaction, and she enjoyed it.

"Paper," she said. "Thank you, Mr. Almasy, but I still have several reams in the supply closet."

He cursed, and she bit her lip to keep from laughing. He flicked the top few pages off the stack, then turned it towards her. The Hyperion logo was prominent at the top of this page, centered above the words, " Employment Contract."

"With Tilmitt at the Hyperion, Qake's days are numbered," he said. "Before this place goes belly-up, I'm giving you a chance to save yourself. At the Hyperion, you can still bake all day, but you'll have a steady paycheck and tons of benefits, too, and you'll be serving clients with ten times the star power – and money – that Tilmitt has! It's perfect!"

"No." She pushed the papers back toward him.

"You haven't even read the thing!"

"I don't have to. I already know that I don't want it."

"What? Why not?"

"Qake is my business, and if it goes down, I'm going down with it. I'm not going to sell out to Hyperion."

"No one said anything about selling out!"

"That's exactly what you're asking me to do." She retrieved the contract and began reading through it, and was startled when Fujin stepped up to the counter and shoved a pen toward her.

"SIGN," Fujin said.

"No, thank you," Quistis replied. "I'm just looking for something."

"SIGN."

Quistis ignored her this time and skimmed through the pages of the lengthy document. In the final section, under "Terms and Conditions," she found what she was searching for.

"By signing this agreement, the employee agrees that his or her employment with Hyperion is on an exclusive basis," she read, "and that, while employed by Hyperion, the employee will not engage in any other business activity (including commitment of time) that is in conflict with his or her duties and obligations to, or the business interests of, Hyperion. This agreement will be in immediate effect upon signature, and will remain in effect and enforceable for a period of six weeks after termination." She looked up at Seifer, and noticed that he was significantly paler than he'd been moments before.

"An exclusivity clause," she said. "Brilliant. A bit slimy, but knowing you, fitting." She gently pushed the pen back toward Fujin. "Thank you, but I won't be needing this."

Seifer clenched his jaw, and his shoulders trembled with restrained rage. He reached out and snatched the contract away from Quistis. "You had your chance, Trepe," he said, anger rumbling low in his voice. "I will crush you, and the rest of these worthless little shops. Raijin! Update the list. I've adjusted my timetable."

"Yeah, boss," Raijin said. "How long?"

Seifer narrowed his eyes. "Two months."

Quistis smiled at him, as sweetly as she could manage. "I'll see you in March, then," she said. "Seifer."

He bared his teeth in a barely-audible snarl, then turned sharply and stalked out of Qake. His associates followed, and hardly had time to close the car door before the vehicle sped away.

Quistis still smiled, congratulating herself on what felt like a victory, but her smile soured into a grimace when she noticed the invitation still on the counter. She hoped it was only a bluff, but the way Selphie had been acting lately, Quistis feared it might be true. She put the card under the counter, out of sight for the moment, but easily accessible for the next time Selphie visited Qake.

Seifer had been right about one thing: she needed to hear the truth from Selphie.

Straight from the heiress' mouth.

•o•o•o•o•o•o•

Selphie arrived fifteen minutes before closing.

"Booyaka!" she shouted as she skipped through the door. "How's every little thing? Super better, right?"

"No," Emmy said flatly, from the register. Quistis put aside her cleaning cloth and walked to the front to face Selphie. Emmy was still frowning at Selphie when she arrived, and Selphie cast Quistis an inquisitive look.

"None of us here know what you mean by 'better,'" Quistis explained. "It was a normal business day, except for a visit from Hyperion's owner."

"Mr. Almasy, right?" Selphie beamed. "That's exactly what I'm talking about! Did he tell you about his new business plan? You said yes, didn't you?"

Quistis gripped the edge of the counter and squeezed her eyes shut, trying to process Selphie's words. What was going on? Selphie really was involved with Seifer's schemes? How long had this been the case? Had they been working together this whole time? She took a deep breath to steady herself, opened her eyes, and fixed Selphie with a level stare.

"Yes, he told me about his plan," she said. "I declined."

"Quisty, why'd you do that? It would've fixed all your problems. You could've worked together and everybody would be happy!"

Quistis frowned. "I have a feeling that we're not on the same page. Seifer was very clear about his business plan, and it had nothing to do with working together. He tried to shut down Qake."

"What?" Selphie took a step back. "But – but that's not what we talked about at all!"

"Talked about? So, you _have_ been associating with Hyperion." Quistis reached beneath the counter and pulled out the invitation. "Which, I suppose, explains this."

Selphie's eyes widened. "Quisty," she said slowly, "where did you get that?"

"Guess."

"It's not what it looks like."

"Really? Because it looks very straightforward to me: 'Selphie Tilmitt's Sensational Super-Colossal New Year's Eve Soiree.' 'Theia Ballroom, Hyperion Hotel and Resort.' There's not much room for alternative interpretations."

"No, no, Quisty, you have to believe me, I didn't do this to go behind your back! I did it to help you!" Selphie clenched and unclenched her fists, over and over. "That Wimbly Donner guy, he's a party planner, he said if I booked with Hyperion, he'd get me to Mr. Almasy. And he did, and we talked, and I made him promise to leave you alone, and then he went and did something different, and –"

"I've heard enough." Quistis laughed dryly. "Your stories are very amusing, but this one stretches credibility a little too much. You've done plenty already; please don't treat me like a fool, as well."

"No! It's the truth!"

"Selphie, you are free to patronize any business you wish. I realize that, and I realize that my distress over this development is entirely irrational, and entirely on me. I suppose, given your history with Qake, and Qake's history with Hyperion, I would've simply appreciated some openness on your part about your decision." Quistis sighed. "I think that's what hurts the most. You gushed on and on about Qake being your favorite place in Dollet, about how much you liked my work, and then you take your business to my biggest competitor without so much as a warning … and only after that incident …"

A wave of nausea swept through her as she recognized the coincidence of events. "How long?" she asked. "How long have you and Seifer been working together? Was it his idea to stage a little online 'accident?'"

"Quisty, what in the world are you talking about? I only met Mr. Almasy a few weeks ago. And you know that accident was real!"

"Then why did you make the move to Hyperion so soon afterward?"

"Like I said! I did it to help you! I did it to get Hyperion off your back." Selphie bit her lip and stamped her foot. "Mr. Almasy promised that he'd work _with _you. He promised there wouldn't be any more problems with Qake!"

"And there wouldn't have been, if I'd signed that contract. There'd be no more problems, because there'd be no more Qake."

"This isn't how it was supposed to be. Not at all. I'm gonna go talk to him, right now!" Selphie pounded on the counter. "I'm gonna cancel the party, and I'm gonna tell him what I really think of him and his stupid hotel!"

"Selphie, drop the charade. Like I said, it's your right to choose the best venue and service for your needs. If that happens to be Hyperion, so be it. What's important is that I caught Seifer's little ploy, and no permanent damage has been done."

"No, it isn't right, and I'm gonna fix that. I'm going to _make_ it right!"

"But every time you've tried, you've only made it worse!" Quistis hadn't meant to shout, but her patience with Selphie had finally snapped. "And I don't think I can handle what might happen next. Selphie, please, for the sake of my bakery, for the sake of my _sanity_, drop it. Leave it alone. Leave _me_ alone."

Selphie was quiet. She blinked a few times, then shook her head, slowly at first, building into a frenzied movement that sent her tears flying. "Quisty," she said, her voice cracking. "I never meant for this to happen. I'm sorry. So, so sorry." She sniffled, long and loud, then backed toward the door. "You gotta believe me. Please, believe me, Quisty! Please!"

Quistis stared at her, fighting the sting in her own eyes and a tightness in her throat. She _wanted_ to believe, but she refused to be made a fool of again. She shook her head, feeling the tension in her neck as she did so. Selphie grimaced, then turned around and ran out of the bakery, letting loose a frustrated cry as she continued down the street.

"She really did seem sorry," Emmy said softly, walking out of the kitchen.

"Maybe," Quistis said, tossing the invitation into the trash, "but how many more 'sorries' can we afford?"

•o•o•o•o•o•o•

"I saw something very interesting in today's _Gawkmonger_," Rinoa said a few days later, shoving a tabloid in Quistis' face.

Quistis leaned back to bring it into focus. The cover featured a large photo of a crying Selphie, sitting on the edge of the fountain in the town square, with the headline, "Dragon in Distress: Selphie Tilmitt Breaks Down!" and the promise of more photos inside. Quistis felt a surge of sympathy for Selphie; regardless of what had happened between them, Selphie didn't deserve to have her most vulnerable moments exploited.

But she wouldn't give Rinoa the satisfaction of her initial reaction. Instead, she glanced toward the upper right corner of the cover, at a grotesque, reptilian creature touted as a rare mutation.

"Rinoa, it's anatomically impossible for a Geezard to grow three heads," she said. "That's just a baby Tri-Face."

"What? No!" Rinoa turned the magazine toward herself to look at the picture, then back to Quistis. "The _big _picture, Quistis. The big one."

"I saw it."

"And?"

Quistis shrugged.

"Serves her right?" It was more a question than a statement from Rinoa.

"Not really," Quistis admitted. "That's pretty low, even for the _Gawkmonger_."

"Yeah, I guess it is." Rinoa laid down the magazine and sighed. "You know, I really want to believe Selphie. I mean, she's been such a nice person. She even forgave me for judging her when she arrived. It doesn't make sense that she'd just hop over to Seifer's side. But I'm scared; if she really _is_ working with Seifer, trusting her could put my shop in jeopardy."

"That's my issue with her, too. Like you said, it was so unexpected." Quistis grabbed a cloth and a spray bottle and walked around the counter to clean the display case. "I suppose we should just wait and see what happens with her party, whether she continues hiring the Hyperion or does something else entirely."

Rinoa was silent for a moment. Then, in a brighter tone, she said, "Speaking of a party, I think you need one, too."

"What?"

"You are _not _spending New Year's Eve alone. I refuse to think of you sitting in the dark, wondering what Selphie's doing, whether she really is on Seifer's side, and what this means for Qake."

"That's not what I'll be doing. I'll be asleep well before midnight, since I'll have been up since two that morning."

"Well, take a nap when you get home, because you're gonna have guests! I've asked both Rosalie and Emmy, and they say they can come."

"Don't you have any plans with Squall?"

"No." Rinoa pouted, her shoulders drooping. "He has to work early the next day. I tried talking to Xu about it, I even told her it was good for him, that maybe he wouldn't be so uptight if he partied a little, but she told me to go away. Xu is _not _as nice as I thought she was."

"I hate to say I told you so …"

"Anyway, about the party, you have to say yes."

Quistis gave a small smile. "I appreciate your concern, but I'm really fine with keeping my normal schedule."

"Oh, come on, live a little! It's not like it's gonna be wild. We're going to have a lot of good food, some really good drinks, and make fun of cheesy romance movies all night. Just a little something to get your mind off of things."

"I don't know."

"Fine. I guess I'll have to bug you until New Year's Eve. Every time I see you, I'm gonna chant, 'party, party, party,' and drive you nuts. Is that what you want?"

Quistis sighed. While she usually admired Rinoa's tenacity, right now it irritated her. She'd learned, however, that the only way to stop her was to give in. For the moment.

"Not particularly."

"Heh, I'm getting to you already, aren't I? So, the party is on?"

"Nothing too wild."

"I promise! Thanks, Quistis. This'll be really fun, you'll see!" Rinoa bought a cupcake, then left the bakery, pulling up the hood of her jacket against a cold winter wind.

Perhaps Rinoa had a point, Quistis thought. It would be good to get her mind off of business matters, even if only for one night. So much had happened in the past few months, she needed to catch her breath and figure out how to move forward. Food, drinks, and bad movies sounded like a fun combination, and, as the day wore on, Quistis found herself anticipating this little get-together.

Not that she would admit that to Rinoa. She had an image to maintain, after all.

As she locked up the bakery that afternoon, however, she couldn't help but remember the photo from the _Gawkmonger_, and Selphie came to mind again. Whatever the truth about her and the Hyperion, Quistis sincerely hoped Selphie was going to be all right.


	13. Soiree

_Work together? You might be on to something, Ms. Tilmitt._

Her meeting with Seifer replayed in her mind as Selphie walked back to where she'd parked her car. He'd seemed like a nice guy, and she hadn't doubted his sincerity for a minute. Now, she pored over what she remembered, trying to spot where she had slipped and fallen into the biggest mess of her life.

_I'm incredibly successful,_ he'd continued, standing and looking out his window toward Dollet, _and I got that way by stepping on a lot of backs. Looking out for number one. There are no allies, only enemies, whether they run the biggest bank in Deling City, or a tiny bakery in Dollet. You see, it's the only way I've ever known, and it worked. _

_Yeah, but it's not gonna work forever, _Selphie said, admiring a silver letter opener in the shape of a sword. _Quisty's not trying to fight you, she just wants to survive. You know, I'd bet she'd be a lot nicer to you if you asked to work with her, instead of threatening her. Rinnie and her run cross-promotions with each other's shops all the time. You could do the same!_

… _Maybe. Or, maybe I could do something bigger, something worthy of Hyperion's size, and my name. _He chuckled briefly, then returned to his desk. _Thank you, Ms. Tilmitt, for opening my eyes. I'll work on a plan, and put it into motion within the week. Rest assured, there will be no more problems between Hyperion and Qake._

_Thank you, Mr. Almasy! I knew you weren't as bad as everyone said! I knew you'd listen to reason._

_Of course. I'm a reasonable man. _He smiled at her, but his eyes were cold. _And thank _you_, Ms. Tilmitt, for choosing Hyperion._

That cold gaze. She'd noticed it then, but, in her excitement, she'd brushed it off as an inconsequential detail. Seifer was a hardened businessman, she'd thought, so maybe his eyes had forgotten how to smile. Now, however, she was furious, at Seifer and at herself, for even thinking she could trust him.

She sniffled once more and wiped the last of the tears off her cheeks. Quisty was right when she said that Selphie hadn't managed to fix her previous mistakes, but it was time to change that pattern. Selphie got in her car, turned the key, and headed toward the city gate. Hyperion was about to take a massive loss.

•o•o•o•o•o•o•

"Get out of my way, you big galoot!" Selphie jabbed her finger toward the large man standing at the door to Seifer's office. When he didn't move, she ran up, grabbed his sleeve, and tried to drag him away. He didn't budge.

"Uh, sorry, no can do, ya know?" he said, taking hold of the back of her shirt collar and plucking her off his person. "Mr. Almasy's in a conference call. No visitors."

"I'm not a visitor, I'm a client."

"Uh … no clients, either."

"You don't sound very sure about that."

"I am! No visitors, nobody! Seifer can't be disturbed, ya know?"

"Really?" Selphie put on her sweetest face. "Not even by a cute client?"

"Uh-uh."

"But I just want to say hi to him. Can't I do that? Just a little wave. Pretty pleeeease?"

"No! This isn't a nightclub, ya know? You can't get in just by bein' cute. Not that you're cute, anyways!"

"Up yours!" Selphie made a rude gesture to the guard and saw his eyes widen, then dart from side to side. "I'm plenty cute, and I'm going in to see Mr. Almasy!" She marched forward and gave the guard a hearty shove. Surprised, he staggered to the side, and Selphie seized her chance.

She was halfway into Seifer's office when the guard caught her by the collar again. She grasped the door frame and braced herself against it with her feet as he tried to pull her back into the hallway.

"No!" she cried. "I need to talk to Mr. Almasy! It's important! Stop pulling! And caramel-crusted cornflakes, get your hands _off me_!"

She threw her weight forward and heard the threads in her collar snapping. If she had to sacrifice a shirt, so be it. Confronting Seifer was far more important than her clothing. She tried again, but though the thread had broken, the material refused to give. She continued screaming, the guard continued pulling, and Seifer hung up the phone and crossed the room. She glanced up and saw him glaring at both of them. She was about to begin airing her grievances right then and there when he shouted at the guard.

"Raijin! What's going on here?"

"Uh, intruder, boss. Gotta … get … her … outta here!" Raijin continued pulling.

"Give it up. She's already _in_." He turned his gaze on Selphie, and looked her up and down with a smirk. "Besides, she's hardly a threat."

"Hardly?" Freed from Raijin's grip, Selphie rushed at Seifer, fists swinging, but he sidestepped, and she was forced to curb her momentum before crashing into the wall.

"Like I said, hardly." He motioned to Raijin to leave and close the door. "So, Ms. Tilmitt, to what do I owe this … _spirited_interruption?"

"I think you know." Selphie straightened and smoothed her shirt the best she could, trying to salvage her dignity. "Just what did you do to Quisty?"

"Do? Nothing. That woman is incredibly hostile. I simply offered to work together, and she ran me out of the bakery. Ingrate."

"Work together? You tried to buy her out!"

"I'll admit, I did. Had she accepted, she'd be working here, at Hyperion. We'd be working together toward a common goal, just like you wanted."

"You know very well that's not what I meant."

Seifer laughed. "It's a good thing you're not a businesswoman, because you're terrible at it. Old Uncle Rendel must be turning in his grave."

"What are you talking about?"

"Loopholes. Double meanings. Extreme clauses hidden in the fine print. The tools of every successful businessman. You asked me to work together with Ms. Trepe; you never said how."

Selphie blinked at him. It was true. This really was her fault. She thought she'd been helping Quisty, when all she'd done was give Seifer another idea. And now she was giving him her money, too, with her party. No more! She planted her feet firmly on the carpet and her hands on her hips, and jutted her chin towards him.

"You're a sleazeball," she said. "A real muck-sucker. And guess what? I don't work with muck-suckers. The party's off!"

Seifer didn't react. She reached up and waved her hand in front of his face.

"Hello? Did you hear me? I said, the party's off!"

Seifer began chuckling, a low, throaty rumble that set Selphie's hairs on end. He shook his head slowly, then smiled at her. "No, it's not," he said.

"Yes, it is."

"Ms. Tilmitt, the party is three days away, far outside of the cancellation window. The party is on, unless you'd like to contest a breach of contract in court?"

"Breach? What do you mean? There wasn't any 'cancellation window' in the contract!"

"Fine print. Like I said, a tool of the trade, maybe the most useful one." He walked back to his desk, rummaged through a drawer, and pulled out a copy of Selphie's contract. "Section sixteen, paragraph seven, lines twenty-three through twenty-five."

"Reservations may be cancelled at the request of Hyperion or the client up to two weeks prior to the date of the event," Selphie read. "'Cancellations outside of this window will be subject to full payment. No refunds will be offered or negotiated. Failure to comply with these terms will result in legal charges.' Hey, wait a minute! This is important stuff! Why's it all the way down here?"

"You're a little dense, aren't you? It's there to secure Hyperion's profits. You saw for yourself how fickle people can be when even a shred of negative PR gets out. This way, even if people decide to cancel en masse, Hyperion loses nothing."

"Yeah, well, you're gonna lose a lot from me! The party is still off, and I'm not paying for a thing!"

Seifer sighed. "Very well. I suppose you'd like to have a seat while I call my legal team. That way we can work out a court date that works for both of us."

"Ha! You think I'm scared of your lawyers? I'm a Blue Dragon. I've got money to burn."

"Hyperion isn't exactly poor, either, and we have a solid case. The settlement we'd get from you would keep the resort running for another six months, maybe even a year. More than enough time to shut down the entire downtown Dollet business district." He leaned back and spread his arms, palms up. "It's your choice, Ms. Tilmitt. Pay for the party, or help me shut your friends down."

Selphie stiffened, her nostrils flaring and her vision darkening in rage. She stared at Seifer for a few seconds, then, quick as a cat, grabbed the letter opener off the desk and plunged it through every page of the contract.

Seifer raised his eyebrows, then reached for the phone. "I think I can arrange a preliminary meeting with my legal team for the seventh. Seven's always been my lucky number. Would that work for you?"

"Forget it." Selphie pushed her chair back and stood up. "The stupid party's on again, but don't get too comfortable. I've got a few surprises."

"And I've got top-notch security." He smiled, his cold glare a shard of ice to Selphie's heart. "Don't do anything dumb."

"I'll do whatever I like, dumb or not." Selphie realized only after the words left her mouth how incredibly _dumb_ she sounded. She gave him her best sneer, then walked out of his office, sticking her tongue out at Raijin as she passed him.

She sat in her car for a few minutes, alternately trying to calm herself and fantasizing about spectacular destruction. Finally, she pulled her phone from her purse and punched in Irvine's number.

He answered almost immediately. "Yes, my sweet?"

"Irvy, are you still in Deling?"

"Yep, I'm taking the morning train into Dollet. You need somethin'?"

"Yeah, a favor. I'll repay you when you get here."

"I'm at your command."

"Can you stop by that neato store behind the shopping arcade? You know, the one that sells costumes and theater props and stuff?" Selphie grinned. "I'm gonna need supplies."

•o•o•o•o•o•o•

_**December 31**__**st**__** 15:23**_

_Booyaka, everybody! Happy New Year! (Well, not yet, but I'll be busy par-taying when the clock strikes 12!) Hope everyone has a great time, and most importantly, STAYS SAFE! _

_As always, New Year's Eve is a time for reflection, and boy, do I have a LOT to reflect on this year! So much has happened. Last New Year's I was in Trabia, just living life, and now I'm here in Dollet, and a Blue Dragon heiress. I've learned so much, and not every lesson has been a happy one. But I think that's important, because we learn even more from our mistakes and we get a chance to grow. Growing is hard, though, and that's something no one ever tells you. It's hard, and it's scary._

_But it's so worth it._

_I hope._

_I've always had a lot of friends, and when I moved to Dollet, I made so many more, and some have become very dear to me. And those are the ones I've hurt. Isn't it strange? Sometimes, it's like the people you love the most, you hurt the most, even when you're only trying to help them._

_Hmm, what am I saying? Well, I'm saying I messed up. I made some really dumb mistakes, and then I made even more, even dumber mistakes while I was trying to fix _those_. I hurt people's feelings, and maybe even their jobs, and now I have to work REAL hard to make things right again._

_But Selphie Tilmitt's never been afraid of hard work!_

_This is actually my New Year's Resolution #1, to make up for everything stupid I did in the past year._

_Resolution #2 is to eat more vegetables. (I can't help it – a lot of veggies are just plain yucky! XP)_

_But Resolution #3 is my biggest, even bigger than #1: Be the best person I can be. It sounds simple, right? WRONG! Sometimes, we think we're being our best selves, but we're actually acting out of spite or jealousy or just plain selfishness. Being your best self means checking in with yourself from time to time, remembering what you value, and who you really love. It's really easy to fall into habits and to justify our actions, so being our best takes work, and it takes attention._

_And I should know. I was definitely not my Best Selph at all times this year. I even forgot how to shoot, for a while! But, thankfully, a good friend opened my eyes. And now this Best Selph is going to help her other friends, for real, this time! :D_

_So, those are my New Year's resolutions! What are yours? Tell me in the comments!_

_Also, a great big THANK YOU to everyone who participated in my little poll yesterday. I'm sorry it was such short notice, but you really helped me out. Helping me choose my outfit and makeup, and the kinds of fun stuff I can do at my party tonight, it's going to feel like all of you are there with me! Massive hugs all around!_

_Have fun, stay safe, and here's to a bright New Year!_

_See you next year!_

_xoxoxo_

_Selphie Tilmitt, Taiga Chick_

•o•o•o•o•o•o•

Two hours before the start of her party, Selphie sashayed into the Theia Ballroom, wearing a bright yellow dress with feathered accents, carrying a large plastic bag bulging with lightweight decorations, and stumbling only twice when her ankles turned in her high heels. She called to Wimbly from across the room, and smiled as she noticed the change in his body language. By the time he reached her, his face was red, his features contorted in abject horror.

"What in the world are you wearing?" he cried.

"My chocobo dress. You like?" Selphie twirled in front of him, her movement lifting the feathers draped from her shoulders and fanning out the ones hanging from a belt down her backside.

"It's horrendous! And – and your _hair_!" Wimbly's voice rose an octave or two as he studied Selphie's updo, carefully shaped and pinned to resemble the feathers of a chocobo's head. Selphie told him as much, and he screamed.

"This is not a costume party!" he said, flinging his arms downward with such force that his clipboard slipped from his hand and landed several feet behind him. "This is an upscale celebrity soiree. Some of the biggest names of the highest social circles will be here tonight. Film stars, singers, famous individuals of indeterminate talents. I cannot – _will _not – have you running around like a deranged children's party escapee." He pointed toward the door. "Go. Change. Now."

Selphie only smiled. "Wimbly, who's paying you?"

"You are, of course, but –"

"Then that makes it _my_ party. And I can show up to my own party dressed however I please."

Wimbly opened and closed his mouth several times, then turned around and collected his clipboard. "Very well," he said. "But I'll need you to make that statement to everyone tonight. I refuse to have this _atrocity_ attached to my reputation."

"No problem!"

"Fine." He took a few moments to regain his composure. "So, what do you think of the décor? I envisioned something sleek and stylish, but also fun."

Selphie looked around the room and made a face. It was sleek and stylish, all right, but absolutely _boring_. Each table was covered with a black tablecloth, scattered with holographic confetti, and accented with swaths of metallic tulle in various shades. At one long table against the wall, gold-rimmed champagne flutes stood on a tray amid a forest of tinsel sprays, and the food table was festooned with a garland of tiny, star-shaped lights. Selphie turned to Wimbly and made a noncommittal sound.

"Eh? What do you mean, 'eh?'" he said. "This is the décor scheme we agreed on!"

"Yeah, but I changed my mind."

"You can't change your mind! The party starts in two hours."

Selphie ignored him. "Needs more chocobos." She upended the plastic bag and dumped out a mountain of cheap paper chocobo decorations, then plopped down on the floor to assemble them. Wimbly made several choking sounds as he watched her open and pin the paper spheres around the chocobos' midsections, and stormed out of the room when she finished, rose, and began setting them on each table.

She stood back to admire her work, satisfied that the ballroom now looked sufficiently festive. Wimbly returned a short while later, on Irvine's heels, reprimanding him for he machines he was wheeling in.

"These are unapproved electronics," Wimbly said. "I cannot allow you to bring them into the ballroom!"

"Relax, man," Irvine said, drawing out each syllable. "They won't pull much juice. You can still have your DJ booth and your strobe lights and whatever. But Sefie said she wanted something extra, and who am I to deny her?"

"This is unacceptable." Wimbly turned toward Selphie. "If you wanted fog and – what's this, bubbles? –bubbles for this party, you needed to ask me during the planning phase."

"I did." Selphie inspected the machines. "You said no, that they were too childish. I really don't like going behind your back, Wimbly, but you sucked all the fun out of this party. You took all the Selphie-ness away. And, if I'm going to have to pay the Hyperion for this event even after Mr. Almasy twisted my words to suit his needs, then I'm going to have the party _I _want. If you don't like it, I can pay you right now, and you can leave."

Wimbly scowled. "I never leave a party before the host or hostess. I'm staying. But you can be very sure that I will let everyone know that this – this _abomination_ was all your idea."

"Fine by me. I've got a few things I want everyone to know about, too."

"Things? What things?"

"Oh, you know, underhanded dealings, unscrupulous businessmen, that kind of stuff."

The color drained from Wimbly's face. "You're skating on thin ice, Ms. Tilmitt," he said quietly. "I would rethink that decision if I were you."

"Well, you're not me, and that's obvious from your decorating sense. Now, if you'll excuse me, Mr. Donner, I need to freshen up for my grand entrance!"

•o•o•o•o•o•o•

No wonder Wimbly's decorations were so boring; his parties were the same. Selphie sat at a table, chin propped on her hand, and watched the beautiful people around her mingle with one another and pose for pictures. Irvine flitted among them, his awkward flirtation techniques earning him a few giggles from some of the drunker women, but no contact information. He returned to Selphie's table and slumped into the chair next to her.

"Dang, I've had bad luck before, but this is ridiculous!" he said. "They all treat me like I'm some gawky teenager."

"To them, I guess we both are," Selphie said.

"Too bad you had to organize this behind your friends' backs. They would've been a lot more fun to pass the evening with."

"You wouldn't get anywhere with them, either."

"Yeah, but at least they talk to me." He looked at Selphie's empty glass. "Want a refill?"

"I'd better not. Don't want to throw off my aim." She patted her thigh.

"Wait a minute, you're not going to –"

"Only if I have to. And since these people don't pay attention to anyone but themselves, that looks more and more likely."

"You _are_ using blanks, right?"

Selphie swatted at his hat. "Do you think I'm an idiot? Of course they're blanks! But I need to make sure I don't threaten anyone directly; that's why I have to stay sharp."

"Ms. Tilmitt!" Wimbly walked over to her table, brushing aside the paper chocobo in the center before taking a seat. "I must apologize to you for my earlier misgivings. Apparently, people love your little additions to the décor. Wonderfully kitschy, they said. Ironically backwater, someone else claimed. Either way, they're the talk of the party."

"And I'm guessing you took the credit." Selphie gave him her most saccharine smile.

"Well, I – er, didn't want to disrupt the flow of conversation. A simple 'thank you' seemed the most appropriate response."

"Take it, then. It's not like I'm hiring you again."

"What? Why not? Look around you, Ms. Tilmitt! This party is a huge success!"

"This party is dull. It's been going for over four hours and I've talked to people for about fifteen minutes total!"

"That's to be expected. No one here really knows who you are."

"Then why did you invite them?"

"Why else? Exposure. Fame." He chuckled, then reached out to pat Selphie's hand. She withdrew it quickly. "You have to understand, Ms. Tilmitt, that it's not about you. Celebrities don't go to parties to socialize with the hostess, unless they already know her very well. No, they go to see and be seen, to have fun with their friends and get a good picture in the next tabloid. It's all about the image."

"It's all about the fakeness, you mean."

"Now, now, let's not grouse. You have a very important hosting duty coming up. You are in charge of the countdown, and –"

"All right, everybody!" A curvy blond woman squeaked into the microphone from the DJ booth. "It's five minutes 'til midnight! Grab a drink, grab a partner, and get ready to _smooooch_ your way into next year!" She finished with a shrill howl, to which the guests responded with rapturous applause and howls of their own.

"My duty?" Selphie said, glancing sidelong at Wimbly. He grinned nervously.

"It _usually_ is the hostess' duty. But it looks like Bunnie Forsythe has stepped up. I'd advise against taking the spotlight from her now. She's incredibly famous, and can only be a boon to your event!"

"Really? What does she do?"

"Uh, no one really knows, for sure. But she is incredibly photogenic, and has a massive following, so like I said –"

"This wouldn't have anything to do with that callout I mentioned earlier, would it?"

"Heh-heh. Well, you see, Ms. Tilmitt, callouts are definite downers, and who really wants to hear about things like that during the biggest celebration of the year?"

Selphie flicked the top of her empty glass so that it fell over onto Wimbly's hand. "All right, Wimbly," she said, "spill. Why are you so scared of letting me get the mic?"

"Scared? I'm not scared at all. At least not for myself. You, on the other hand … slander, scandal, legal woes. That's what awaits you if you go through with your plan. I'm only looking out for you, Ms. Tilmitt."

"Yeah, sure." Selphie slouched in her seat and watched Wimbly walk away. She remained there through the countdown, and when Irvine tried to steal a New Year's kiss, she pulled his hat down over his face and pushed him out of his chair.

By two o'clock, she'd had enough. Not only had she been forced to keep the party and pay Hyperion for the space and services provided, but she hadn't even enjoyed herself at it. As the night stretched on, and the bass reverberated in her skull, punctuated by shrill laughter from the tipsy women around her and overly boisterous posing by the men, all she wanted was to leave this mess behind, crawl into her bed, and forget any of it ever happened.

She got up from the table and picked her way through the crowd, then climbed into the DJ booth and asked to borrow his microphone. He handed it over and turned the music down. A chorus of boos greeted this decision. Selphie took a deep breath.

"Booyaka!" she shouted, smiling as she heard her voice echo through the ballroom. Some people started and looked up at her, while others wondered aloud what she'd just said. "I'm Selphie Tilmitt, your hostess for this evening. It looks like everyone is having fun here tonight, and I really want to thank you for coming." Light applause. "I also wanted to talk to you all about something very important, about the resort we're in right now and how it's affecting the nearby town of Dollet."

"Nobody cares!" someone shouted from the crowd, and that triggered a wave of similar sentiments. Someone else called for the DJ to turn the music up again, while another called her a "pathetic little goody-goody," among a litany of coarser terms. Selphie tightened her grip on the microphone and glanced at the DJ. He shrugged and indulged the crowd, and soon the bass vibrated beneath Selphie's feet once more.

That did it. Nobody ignores Selphie Tilmitt.

She hiked up her dress quickly, to the cheers of a few men, who didn't seem to realize what she was reaching for. She pulled a small gun from the holster around her thigh, raised it above her head, and fired three shots in rapid succession. People screamed and fell to the floor, while those near the exits pushed through the doors.

"Party's over!" Selphie shouted. "None of you self-absorbed nitwits wanted to listen to me before, well, you're gonna listen now! We are standing in the Theia Ballroom of the Hyperion, a lovely resort unfortunately owned by one of the slimiest men in the world. A man so insecure that he has to bully the small business owners in Dollet. A man so small-minded that he can't fathom the concept of cooperation. A man who tries to force others out of business because, in his own words, 'there are no allies, only enemies.' What kind of man is that? He's not a man at all! He is a mutant Geezard! Yeah, bad breath and all!"

She paused to catch her breath, adrenaline coursing hot in her veins, and surveyed the trembling, crying crowd before her. Their fear touched a nerve, and she rolled her eyes. "Oh, get up, you numbskulls! These are just blanks! It was the only way I could get your attention." As they slowly rose, she continued. "Now, where was I? Oh yeah, Seifer Almasy is a stinkin', overgrown Geezard who wants everything for himself. And what do we do but give it to him? No more! I'm calling for a boycott of Hyperion! Who's with me?"

Silence.

"I said, who's with me?"

From the back of the room, someone called her crazy, and the insult rippled through the crowd, picking up unpleasant modifiers and exchanging them as quickly for more revolting ones. Selphie raised her gun and fired three more shots, but was met only with laughter. She'd revealed her hand, and in so doing, relinquished her power.

_Stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid!_ Would she ever learn?

"I'm with you!" Irvine shouted, shoving people aside and scrambling into the DJ booth. He took the microphone from her. "I stand with Selphie Tilmitt!" he declared, as Hyperion security closed in on them. "I stand with –" his last words died in the noise of the raucous crowd as the sound system was cut. He greeted security with a sheepish grin and handed the microphone back to the DJ.

Selphie, meanwhile, felt her energy fade. Defeated, she dropped the gun and offered no resistance as a security guard pulled her arms behind her back and slapped a pair of cold handcuffs on her wrists. She allowed herself to be led through the jeering crowd, pelted with food and splashed with champagne, squinting in the flash of hundreds of cameras, and wishing for the world that she had never left Trabia.


	14. Contrition

Quistis heard Rinoa and her friends approaching before they knocked on the door. Shaking away the last of her drowsiness, she answered, and immediately threw Rinoa a quizzical look. Rinoa had arrived dressed to impress, in a short ivory dress and matching high heels. Emmy and Rosalie wore similarly stylish outfits. Each of them carried several plastic grocery bags, and Emmy balanced a tray of cookies across her arms. Rinoa's smile faded as she took in Quistis' sweatshirt and pajama bottoms, and she demanded to know why Quistis wasn't dressed.

"You said we were staying in," Quistis replied, stepping aside and letting them into her apartment.

"We are, but it's still a party." Rinoa took her bags into the kitchen and began unloading food and drinks. "Now, go put on something sparkly and daring."

"I haven't got anything sparkly and daring. Besides, who are you hoping to impress? I hope you haven't invited anyone else."

"Of course not. We're dressing up for _ourselves_. It's New Year's Eve, a time to celebrate, and that means celebrating everything that we are. Everything we can be! It means letting yourself look and feel _good_, for once!"

"For _once_?" Quistis glared at her, but as Rinoa carried on preparing the refreshments, she retreated to her bedroom to find something suitable to wear to a party in her own home.

She slid hangers along the rod in her closet and sighed. She was happy with her wardrobe, but she didn't own many dressy pieces, and she was certain those she did would be dismissed as boring. Wondering why Rinoa felt the need to overdramatize the holiday, she nonetheless selected a cap-sleeve dress in a deep wine color and, feeling supremely silly, put it on. With a high neckline, and falling to just above the knee, it was hardly daring, but with the right necklace, she might almost achieve sparkly. She hastily swept up her hair and pinned it in place, added a touch of makeup, and presented herself to the ladies in the kitchen.

Emmy and Rosalie clapped, while Rinoa gave her a critical once-over.

"That'll do, I guess," she said. "Now, come on and help us. We need to get this party started!"

By nine o'clock, they had already gone through one trayful of various finger foods, a few drinks, and one horrendously-acted romantic movie. Quistis lounged on the couch, her body warm and languid, her thoughts gliding slowly through the fog of alcohol, and watched her friends take the selection of the next movie far more seriously than they should. Emmy glanced up and noticed the clock.

"I guess Selphie's party is in full swing right now," she said.

"Oh, Emmy, don't bring her up," Rosalie protested, running a hand through her short dark hair as she considered the movies in front of her. "We're supposed to be having fun."

"I am. But I couldn't help wondering what's going on at the Hyperion right now."

"Chaos and debauchery, most likely," Rinoa said.

Quistis laughed. "Debauchery? Selphie?"

"Hey, you never know. We never thought she'd ditch us for the rich and beautiful set, either."

"'Ditch' sounds so bad. She simply chose to have a different kind of party for New Year's. It's her right."

"A party without us. Hence, ditched."

"She's not obligated to invite us to anything." An uneasy feeling crept into Quistis' chest, spawned by a dark thought that, had her mind been working properly, she would have immediately caught and shoved back down. "It's not like any of us viewed her as a friend when she arrived."

"Hey, I had a very good reason to be suspicious of her! A gun-crazy lady from the sticks who suddenly has all this money from an ethically murky business set off all kinds of red flags in my head."

"I'll admit, she kind of scared me at first," Emmy said. "She was so loud, so energetic. I was worried she might not be all there." She smiled and turned to Quistis. "But I don't know what you feel bad about. You were so nice to her from the beginning."

"Because of the money," Quistis admitted, the words bitter in her mouth. "I wanted Selphie's patronage because she could help sustain Qake. I never expected to become friends with her. Just her money." She ran a finger along the rim of her glass. "I'm no better than Seifer."

"Whoa, hey!" Rinoa held up her hand. "Don't say that! Don't you _ever_ compare yourself to that slimeball! You're worlds better than him, better than he'll ever be!"

"But we operate by the same principle. Money."

"No. No-no-no-no-no. Alcohol is supposed to make you _happy_, Quistis, not drag you down. Come on, snap out of it! This is a party, and you're ruining it."

Quistis said nothing, guilt weighing heavy on her heart, smothering whatever words might form.

"Maybe she needs a refill," Rosalie offered.

"No," Rinoa said, rising from the floor and sitting next to Quistis, "she needs to get her mind off of this stuff. Rosalie, start up another movie; I don't care which one. We need to laugh again."

As the opening credits played over a cheery pop tune, Rinoa watched Quistis carefully, shifting with every change in her expression, as if in anticipation of an action that might be detrimental to herself or her party guests. At Rinoa's subtle cue, Emmy and Rosalie began their evisceration of the current movie, an undercurrent of anxiety in their laughter.

What was she doing? The thought finally pushed its way to the surface in Quistis' mind. She blinked and looked around at her friends, at their worried expressions, at their valiant attempts to keep the mood light, and she silently cursed at herself. She sighed and shook her head, then gave Rinoa a weak smile.

"You're right," she said. "This is a party, and we need to laugh again. We can't let Selphie ruin this, especially when she's not even here."

"That's the spirit! You're going to be fine. We all are." Rinoa looked to the other two ladies, and they nodded enthusiastically.

"Hey, I know," Emmy said, raising her glass. "Let's toast Selphie away! To Ms. Tilmitt and whatever she's doing right now, I hope she has fun! We'll have our own!"

"I'll drink to that," Rosalie said, and downed the remaining contents of her glass.

Quistis was contemplating her own empty glass when Rinoa snatched it from her hand. "Not you," she said. "We don't need you getting all dour again." She handed her a cookie. "Here, toast with this, instead."

Quistis looked at the cookie and laughed, louder and longer than the absurdity of the situation warranted. She apologized to her friends and shifted into a more comfortable position on the couch, to better join in on the commentary and alternative dialogue they inflicted on the movie. During a dimly-lit intimate scene, she made an off-color comment that earned her shrieks of laughter from the other ladies, and a throw pillow to her face.

"Quistis, that is _filthy_!" Rinoa said, errant giggles bubbling through her voice. She winked. "Glad to know you're human."

They took a break from watching movies to count down the final seconds of the year, then refreshed their snacks and drinks and resumed, laughing and teasing and eventually falling victim to drowsiness, one by one.

•o•o•o•o•o•o•

Quistis awoke under the gentle weight of a blanket, and frowned. Somehow, there were blankets. She couldn't remember if she had brought some out, or if her friends had taken it upon themselves to locate them. If it was the latter, she hoped none of them had found anything too incriminating in her bedroom, but judging from the state they'd all been in the night before, she doubted they would remember if they had.

She sat up, and groaned as a wave of dizziness swept over her and a dull ache throbbed in her head. When her vision steadied, she surveyed the aftermath of the party. Empty plates and glasses littered her living room floor, pushed aside to provide sleeping spaces for her friends. Rosalie was propped up against the couch, the top of her head all that was visible from within her blanket cocoon. Rinoa and Emmy were stretched out in front of the TV, a curiously large pile of crumpled tissues between them.

Quistis glanced at the clock and noticed that it was well past ten. She hadn't slept so late in years. She stretched her limbs and rose carefully, not quite trusting her legs yet, then walked into the kitchen as quietly as she could, to begin brewing a pot of coffee.

Rinoa was the first to respond, shuffling in from the living room wrapped in a blanket, her hair mussed and her makeup smeared. "Mornin'," she mumbled. "Happy New Year."

Quistis returned the greeting. "How long did you an Emmy manage to last?" she asked.

"It was … after five, I think. Maybe almost six."

"Wow. I admire your endurance. So, what's the story behind the tissues?"

"Oh, you saw that? Heh. After you and Rosalie fell asleep, the commentary kind of died down. We didn't mean to, but me and Emmy both got really into the movie we were watching, and it was so sad. And happy. But sad, for us."

"I see. Sounds complicated." She poured a cup of coffee for each of them. Rinoa held hers close and inhaled the aroma.

"No, it was because of the guy in the movie. He was so attentive, so _there._ I said I wished Squall would take a little more initiative, and Emmy kept crying that the guy she likes never looks at her the way the guy in the movie looked at his girlfriend." Rinoa leaned close and dropped her voice to a whisper. "She kept saying 'Zell.' Is that really who she likes?"

Quistis nodded and grinned. "I suppose you can't account for the variety of taste in this world."

"No kidding."

Quistis and Rinoa were washing the plates and glasses when Rosalie stumbled into the kitchen and asked for coffee, followed by Emmy about a half an hour later. When they had all been sufficiently reanimated, they began tidying up the apartment. They hadn't gotten far into the task when Quistis' phone rang. She answered, still giggling at something Rinoa had said.

"Hello, this is Agent Bennard from SafeSense Alarm Company," the caller said. "May I speak to Quistis Trepe?"

"Speaking." Quistis' smile faded and her stomach turned, and she felt a cold sweat break out across her forehead.

"Ms. Trepe, our system indicates that the alarm at Quake – er, Qake, has been triggered, and I am calling to confirm whether this is an actual emergency or a false trigger."

"N-no, it's real. I haven't been to Qake at all today."

"Thank you for that information, Ms. Trepe. I will notify the authorities right away." The agent hung up before Quistis could say any more.

Her fear must have been apparent, because the other women stopped chattering and looked at her.

"Quistis?" Emmy said. "Is something the matter?"

"It's Qake." Quistis stared at her phone, not wanting to believe this was really happening. "Someone's broken in."

•o•o•o•o•o•o•

The waiting was torture. Quistis sat on the couch, watching her phone, while her friends made nervous small talk around her. The joviality of the holiday had evaporated the moment she told them of the situation, and a sense of uncertainty and doom descended on the apartment. She had called the Dollet Police Department to confirm that officers were on the scene, and asked to be notified of any developments.

It had been almost an hour.

When, at last, the phone rang, she answered it quickly, breathless.

"Ms. Trepe, this is Officer Leonhart," Squall said. "I'm on the scene of the break-in, and I am calling to provide the update you requested."

"Yes, go on." Quistis could hear Nida talking in the background.

"Ms. Trepe, it appears that the suspect gained entry to the business by breaking the glass in the front door, and now they have barricaded themselves inside." There was a slight scuffling sound and a grunt from Nida. "The suspect is unarmed, and, as far as we can tell, not a threat to themselves or others. However, they refuse to surrender until their conditions are met."

"Just tell her!" Nida shouted.

"Just tell me what?" Quistis asked. "What are the suspect's conditions?"

"The suspect demands to speak with you immediately," Squall said, followed by more scuffling sounds, a few mild curses, and Nida's voice.

"Ms. Trepe?" Nida said, having apparently wrested the phone away from Squall. "Officer Leonhart's information is correct, but he has _neglected_ to mention that our suspect is Selphie Tilmitt. She wants to talk to you right away. Like Officer Leonhart said, she's unarmed and appears to be non-threatening, so could you please come to the bakery?"

Quistis jaw fell slack. Selphie? What was she doing at Qake? Why had she _broken in_? And why in the world did she want to speak with Quistis _now_?

"Appearances can be deceiving, officer," Quistis finally said. "Can't you apprehend her first?'

"Uh … we can't get to her. She's barricaded herself behind a maze of tables and chairs. Any time we make a move, she scoots all over the place!"

That sounded like normal Selphie behavior. Quistis sighed. "Very well. I'll be there within the half-hour."

"Oh, thank you, Ms. Trepe, thank you so mu—"

She hung up on a groveling Nida, then turned to her friends and shook her head. "It's Selphie," she said. "She broke into Qake and is demanding to speak with me. The police, including your _dear boyfriend_ –" she pointed at Rinoa – "say they can't catch her. Incompetent."

"Hey!" Rinoa stood up straight, prepared to defend Squall, but her curiosity took over. "So, are you going to talk with her?"

"I have to. Otherwise, this standoff could drag on for days."

"I'm coming, too!"

"Rinoa, you're only going to be a distraction to Squall."

"So? You already said he was incompetent."

"Fine." Quistis looked at Emmy and Rosalie. "Feel free to make yourselves comfortable. I shouldn't be gone long, and there's some food in the refrigerator."

"Don't worry about us," Emmy said, while Rosalie saluted. "We'll finish tidying up. You go get Selphie out of the bakery!"

Quistis cleaned up and changed into comfortable clothes, while Rinoa tried to set her hair and makeup to rights. She picked along the cobblestones behind Quistis, and began complaining of foot pain and twisted ankles less than two blocks from the apartment. Quistis ignored her, and as soon as they came within sight of the bakery, Rinoa's foot pain seemed to magically disappear as she ran toward Squall. They were already talking quietly with each other when Quistis approached the door to Qake.

"Thanks for coming," Nida said, then turned toward the bakery. "Ms. Tilmitt, we have met your request. Ms. Trepe is out here now."

Selphie popped up from behind a table, her hair disheveled and tracks of dried mascara running down her cheeks. "Quisty?" she said. "Quisty, I'm so sorry! Please forgive me!"

Quistis nodded at Nida, then entered the bakery, climbing over chairs and upturned tables to reach Selphie. As she got nearer, she became aware of an unpleasant odor, like strong alcohol and old food, and discovered it was coming from Selphie, whose entire person was splattered with all manner of mysterious substances.

"Quisty," Selphie continued wailing, "you gotta forgive me! Please! I wasn't turning my back on you! Please, Quisty, _plee-ee-eease_!"

"Selphie, settle down." Quistis sat in a chair far enough from Selphie to allow the stench to dissipate somewhat. "What in the world happened to you? Why did you break into my shop?"

"I needed to talk to you, right away, and I – I realized that I don't have your number, or your address, only those for Qake. So I came here, and I saw it was closed … but I needed to talk to you, so bad, I thought that maybe, if I set off the alarm, you'd come, but then it was only stupid _Nida _and grumpy _Squall_, so then I told them I wouldn't leave until –"

"You wanted to speak with me, so you figured that _breaking and entering_ was the best method?"

"… Well, yeah. How else was I gonna get your attention?"

Quistis groaned and pressed her palms to her eyes. "Maybe this would make more sense if we started from the beginning. Looking at you, I'm guessing you had quite a night."

"Uh-huh."

"Are you going to tell me about it?"

"I don't know if you'll believe me. But it's all true!"

"I'll try. Go on."

Selphie told her everything, barely pausing to catch her breath. She told her about meeting Wimbly Donner at the Battle of the Bands, about meeting twice with Seifer, and how he'd twisted her idea to his liking, about trying to make the party as ridiculous as possible, and finally, about trying to incite a boycott of Hyperion and lead everybody back to Qake.

"I thought it would work. I really, really did," she finished, her voice hitching at the end.

Quistis said nothing. She was still trying to comprehend what Selphie had told her, still trying to process Selphie's irrational, serpentine train of thought that centered on nothing more than helping _her._ While Quistis had doubted and cursed, Selphie had thought only of her and her bakery. The guilt that had plagued her briefly the night before returned, and she bowed her head.

"Thank you, Selphie, for everything you've done, or tried to do," she said. "But _I'm_ the one who should apologize. When you first came to Dollet, I was eager to have you as a customer, not out of friendship – not then – but because you had the kind of money to keep Qake running." She glanced up, at Selphie's confused expression. "I never expected us to become friends, so when we did, I just swept my earlier ambitions aside, and hoped they'd never come up again. However, you've been so good to me, and to the rest of Dollet, that I don't feel it's right to keep that information from you. Simply put, I feel like I don't deserve as dedicated a friend as you."

"Oh, Quisty …"

"I'm very willing to forgive you, now that I know the whole truth, but it's only fair that you know _my_ whole truth before deciding whether you want my forgiveness at all."

Selphie stared at her for a few minutes, her eyes welling up. Then, a grin spread across her face and she flung herself toward Quistis, pulling her into a hug. "Quisty! Of course I want your forgiveness! And you have mine! We all do things we aren't proud of, and I understand where you were coming from back then. What's important is that we're all on the same page going forward."

Quistis smiled and returned the hug, trying her best not to inhale too deeply. "Thank you, Selphie," she said. "Thank you, from the bottom of my heart." She pulled away and held Selphie at arms' length. "I do have one more question, though: how did you end up like _this_?"

Selphie glanced down at her dress, as if she'd forgotten the mess there. "After security caught me, they led me through the crowd, and let's just say people weren't very happy with me. There's hors d'oeuvres, champagne, some cake – nowhere near as good as yours – and … I don't know what this spot is." She pulled the fabric to her nose and sniffed, then shrugged.

"Selphie, that's horrible! What did security do?"

"Well, since I fired a gun –" she held up her hands at Quistis' horrified expression – "they were blanks! It still counted as reckless discharge of a firearm. Then there was disturbing the peace, attempt to incite a riot – I think _that_ one's a little over-the-top – and disorderly conduct. They brought me to the police station here, and I bailed myself out this morning."

"Wasn't Irvine with you?"

"Yeah, but all he did was shout a little. Security gave him a talking-to, and he turned tail and ran back to Deling. He's not exactly brave."

"No, he's not."

"Oh, and I forgot the best part! Because me and Irvy were so raucous, we've both been banned from the Hyperion. _For life_."

"How is that the best part?"

Selphie smiled. "This is one heiress' money they'll never, _ever _see again! Well, except for what I owe them for last night."

Quistis laughed. "So, you really stuck it to Seifer, then!"

"Sure did! He'll survive, though. Unfortunately."

"Let's not focus on him. What about you? You look – and smell – like you could use a shower. And have you slept at all?"

Selphie shook her head. "I haven't been home. Security dumped me here, and my car's still at the hotel."

"We can send someone to pick it up later, if you want."

"The valet's got the keys. I still have the ticket … somewhere …" She rummaged through her clutch.

"In that case, come to my apartment. You can clean yourself up and get some rest, and we have plenty of food left over from last night."

"Quisty, no. I can't do that, not after what I've put you through. Not after what I did to your shop! I'll pay for that, by the way."

Quistis nodded. "Yes, you will. And you'll clean the shop before tomorrow's morning crowd comes in, too. That's why I'm not going to press charges."

"Fair enough. But I still can't accept your offer."

"It's not an offer, it's an order." She took Selphie by the arm and helped her out of the shop. Once outside, she explained the situation to Nida, and he volunteered to call an emergency repair service for Qake, to board up the door for the day, at least. She explained Selphie's story again, to a horrified Rinoa, who reluctantly bid Squall farewell to help escort Selphie back to the apartment. After one more round of explanations, Selphie showered and ate, then, wearing a pair of Quistis' pajamas, which were far too long for her, crawled under a pile of blankets and went straight to sleep.

•o•o•o•o•o•o•

"Come on, Quisty! It'll be so much fun!" Selphie bounced at the counter, several pages detailing her latest project spread across it. "Rinnie's having a workshop of her own, even that Edea lady is showing people how to read cards and mix herbs for teas and stuff. You _have _to have a cake-decorating workshop!"

Quistis looked over Selphie's plan for a neighborhood festival. "As tempting as it is to join in the festivities, I don't know if I can manage running the bakery _and_ hosting a workshop, especially if it's full of children."

"It won't be just you! You've got Emmy, and … wait, I don't think Zell would be a great choice … but that decorator lady you hired, what's her name, Darla? She's got kids; she'd probably love this."

"You have a point. I'll ask them."

"Booyaka! This'll be the best festival Dollet has seen, and a great way to kick off my new service!"

"Service?"

Selphie chuckled mischievously, then put a folder on the counter and slid it toward Quistis. Opening it, Quistis saw a stack of paperwork she recognized from several years ago, now filled in with Selphie's details. She skimmed the first page, already smiling, and stopped when she came to the line, "Selphie Tilmitt, d.b.a. Booyaka! Party Services." She looked up at Selphie's ecstatic grin.

"Congratulations," she said.

"Thanks! I figured that if someone like Wimbly could do this, it shouldn't be too hard for me. It's a good way to put my money to use. I can plan parties for people who aren't afraid of having fun, and keep business here in Dollet, at the same time. I don't know why I didn't think of this sooner!"

"So, do you have an opening date?"

"A few months from now. I've already leased that empty suite near the corner, and I'm working on contracting vendors right now. So, I'm thinking, around mid-April. That's why I want to have this festival then, as a kind of grand opening event, and a celebration of springtime, of course."

"It sounds like a lot of fun."

"You bet it'll be! And it'll really bring in business to the shops here." Selphie frowned. "There's only one problem …"

"What's that?"

"You won't have hot chocolate cupcakes by then, will you?"

Quistis shook her head, and Selphie was quiet for a moment.

"All the more reason to enjoy them now," she said finally. "Okay, Quisty, gimme a whole dozen!"


	15. Resurgence

Quistis dropped at handful of tiny fondant tanks into a small box, and placed the box behind the display case. Then, she took over the cash register duties from Zell and began greeting customers, both familiar and new, as they wandered into Qake from the festival outside.

Selphie's first festival had been a modest success, and she immediately made it a monthly occurrence, sponsored by Booyaka! Party Services and featuring a different charity each month, to which a portion of all festival proceeds were donated. The event gradually caught on, first with local families, then with tourists, and finally, with other curious locals who said they'd simply never had a reason to visit the neighborhood before. Quite a few of them became regular patrons of the downtown businesses, and their word-of-mouth advertising brought in even more.

The festivals themselves were fun and lively, creating a sense of community among the locals, and drew enough of a crowd to provide a degree of anonymity for anyone who might desire it.

During the June festival, Quistis was returning to the register from checking in on the workshops when she noticed a large, tanned man standing just inside the door. He was dressed head-to-toe in clothes that looked as though they'd come from the gift shop at the harbor, including an oversized straw hat with the price tag still attached, and dark sunglasses. He refused to remove the glasses, even indoors, and carefully picked his way to the display case. As he got closer, Quistis recognized him, and smiled.

"Hello, Raijin," she said. "Are you finally going to try a cupcake?"

"Raijin? I ain't Raijin," the man responded. "I-I'm a tourist, ya know? Wearin' tourist clothes, doin' touristy things … ya know?"

"Mm-hmm."

"Yeah, this morning I went, uh, fishing. Caught a real big one! Then, I, uh, I went shopping, ya know? Gotta buy new stuff. And I turned my phone off, 'cause Fu is always buggin' me and – gah!" Realizing he'd given himself away, he pulled off his sunglasses, and Quistis saw genuine fear in his eyes.

"You won't tell Seifer, will you?" he asked. "He'd be real mad if he knew I was comin' here, ya know? But I just gotta try one of those cupcakes! They look so good."

"Your secret's safe with me," Quistis said, and watched his shoulders relax. "Now, which flavor would you like? Strawberry's pretty popular right now –"

"Naw, but it's pink!"

"We also have orange-chocolate, and, another popular flavor, Tropical Breeze."

"Ooh, that one sounds good! I'll take it."

"For here, or to go?"

"To go! I can't get caught here, especially eatin' something so fluffy." He snorted. "Got a reputation to keep, ya know?"

Quistis stared at his ridiculous outfit, and at the price tag dangling beside his right ear, and fought to suppress a giggle. She swallowed hard and nodded solemnly. "I know," she said, and boxed up his cupcake. He paid for it hastily, tugging bills from the wad he pulled out of his pocket, and spilling coins on the floor. He ignored the coins and took his cupcake, then slid on his sunglasses and crept toward the door.

"Enjoy your cupcake," Quistis called after him, "and come back soon!"

"Uh … yeah, sure, ya know?" he said, then exited Qake and hugged the side of the building until he was swept into the crowd.

He did return, each month during the festival, and Quistis decided to reward his loyalty by indulging a request he'd made months before. When he first saw her put a miniscule military tank made of fondant on top of his chosen cupcake, his eyes lit up, and he promptly purchased half a dozen more. He even engaged her in conversation, and let slip a few details about Hyperion's new direction in the process.

Seifer had closed down sixty percent of Hyperion's retail space and converted it into something Raijin called a "Day-and-Nightclub and Ultra Lounge," complete with private rooms, an indoor pool, and nonstop live entertainment.

"Yeah, he said someone like him shouldn't even be competin' with shops like these, ya know? It's beneath him. Said he should be doin' something bigger, something nobody else is doin' ya know? It's just Seifer bein' Seifer."

"Interesting," Quistis said, hoping to draw more information from her customer.

"But even though we're not competin' with you guys no more, Seifer still doesn't like you, and he'd be real mad if he knew I was buying cupcakes from you. So, keep quiet, ya know?" He watched each cupcake make the journey from display case to box, and licked his lips.

"You can count on me!" Quistis handed him his order.

He left that day, beaming, clutching the cupcake box to his chest and elbowing others out of his way as he made a quick, excited escape.

Now, Quistis served customers bundled up against the November chill, and watched the crowd outside wander and mingle: children with painted faces holding balloons, their parents running after them with half-eaten hot dogs; a group of men standing on the sidewalk near the bakery, talking and laughing with one another; a young woman perusing the blown-glass figurines at a vendor's stand. Quistis had heard, from older residents, that this is what the downtown area had looked like every day. She hadn't had a chance to experience that – as long as she could remember, businesses in Dollet had been scattered throughout the town, and downtown was a relic only for nosy tourists to stroll through – and she was glad that Selphie's festivals could bring it back, if only for one day each month.

It felt warm and comfortable, and, if she allowed herself to be dramatic, magical. Life returned to downtown, and with it, business, and hope. She had to thank Selphie for all of it.

The only person Quistis knew with enough influence and income to successfully stage large public events on a regular basis, Selphie had dedicated herself to revitalizing downtown Dollet. Her own business was slowly gaining traction, as she worked hard to convince people that she was capable of planning more than children's birthday parties. She steered her clients toward local businesses for their party needs – to Qake, for desserts; to Sant'Angelo Books and other shops for gifts and decorations and flowers; to the Hotel Dollet for event space – and worked with contracted vendors to procure anything they might not be able to find in town. Her future secured by her personal wealth, Selphie was not afraid to take whatever professional risks necessary to build a company and brand true to her singular vision.

And that vision was going to be on full display next weekend, at the annual Battle of the Bands. Selphie had made sure to get her order in early this year, and stopped by daily to check on the progress of the fondant details. Today was no exception.

"Tiny little speakers," she squealed. "They're so adorable! Ooh, and the microphone stand is too cute!" She gushed over the other decorations shown her, then asked about lights.

"We can do battery-operated lights," Quistis told her, "and hide the battery compartment behind the cake, beneath a few layers of fondant. It will still be accessible, in case the batteries need to be replaced, but it won't be obvious."

"Oh, thank you, thank you! I'll finally have a cake worthy of the event. Speaking of, you'll stay through the whole thing, right? There are some neato bands I'd like for you to hear!"

"I'll try. Unfortunately, that's something I can't decide until the day of the event."

"I understand. Fingers crossed, though." She turned toward the corner of the bakery sectioned off for workshops. "And how's everything here, today?"

"Fine. Emmy and Darla are alternating duties as workshop facilitator, and the children that have come through so far have been surprisingly well-behaved." Quistis smiled. "Not to mention, talented. I may have some strong competition in ten or fifteen years."

"Or some totally awesome employees! Bright side, Quistis; stay on the bright side."

Quistis started as the bell above the door jingled wildly, and Rinoa stomped into Qake, glitter in her hair, paint on her face, and an empty cardboard box in her hand.

"Can you believe it?" she said, waving the box. "The little monsters cleaned me out! 'One cupcake,' I told them, 'Only _one_.' So what do they do? They grab as many as they can! Even when I thought I'd restored order, that Galdan brat claimed half a dozen for himself by sticking his finger right through them. Quistis, help me!"

"I can get you another batch of cupcakes," Quistis offered, taking the box from her, "but I can't do anything about the children."

"Yes. Yes, you can!" Rinoa followed her to the counter, a crazed gleam in her eyes. "You have Darla. Send her to the bookstore, _please_, at least for the next workshop! I'll pay you. I'll pay _her_, in cash. Please!"

"Rinoa, my employees are not for rent." Quistis couldn't suppress a grin as she began selecting a variety of cupcakes for Rinoa's order. "But you _can_ ask her for tips." When Zell came to the front with a tray of fresh cupcakes, she asked him to call Darla. He cast a questioning glance at Rinoa, then, seeing her distress, smirked and did as he was told.

"She really should be asking Squall for tips," he said, as he watched Rinoa and Darla talk at a table, Rinoa scribbling notes on a napkin. "He knows how to keep the peace."

"Can you imagine what he'd be like at a children's workshop, though?" Quistis said. "I've never even seen him interact with a child."

"He'd probably just arrest 'em all."

"Now, _that's _something I'd like to get for Taiga Chick," Selphie said. "'Local cop meets his match…es … and they're all half his height!' People would love it, I'm sure. Squall would be an instant celebrity!"

"And your instant enemy," Quistis reminded her. "He doesn't strike me as the kind of person who enjoys attention."

"Yeah, you're right. You'd think going out with Rinnie would've changed him. I really don't understand how they get along in the first place."

"I think it's that whole 'opposites attract' thing," said Zell, spinning slowly on the stool behind the register. "Rinoa's so loud and pushy, and Squall's so quiet and stubborn. I guess they balance each other out."

"Ever thought of who might balance _you _out, Zell?"

"Huh? Uh … no, not at all! My opposite would have to be really quiet, I guess, and like quiet things like reading and stuff, and …" he blushed. "… Oh."

"Oh, what? Do someone just come to mind?"

"No! Nobody! Shut up, Selphie, and leave me alone!" He scrambled off the stool and back into the kitchen.

"A-ha! I think I touched a nerve!"

Quistis nodded. "Now, we just have to wait a few years until he grows up enough to admit it." She and Selphie laughed.

They laughed even harder when Emmy came out of the kitchen wearing a perplexed expression. "Zell's acting really weird," she said. "His face was all red, and he wouldn't even look at me. He just ran out the back door, saying it's time for his break. But he just had lunch! Is he all right?"

"Don't worry, Em, he'll be fine!" Selphie gave her a thumbs-up and a wink, then excused herself and headed back to the festivities outside. Raijin sidled in, wrapped in a long coat, a hat pulled low over his eyes, escaping Selphie's notice. Quistis greeted him cheerfully, putting a new lid on the cupcake box, while Rinoa mulled over her child-wrangling notes and Emmy reached for the box of tanks.

Life had definitely returned to downtown. Noisy, hectic, confusing life.

Warm, beautiful, _magical_ life.

•o•o•o•o•o•o•

Quistis was looking forward to a quiet Saturday. Still recuperating from the Battle of the Bands, she hoped to get started on some decorations for Irvine's birthday cake for his surprise party the following weekend. Zell had taken the week off to visit his family in Balamb, and apparently took his boisterousness along, because even after Emmy arrived, the kitchen at Qake remained quiet, sounds of work interrupted only sporadically by soft conversation.

"This year has been crazy," Emmy said, pulling a tray of cupcakes from the oven. "I've never worked so hard in my life!"

"Success doesn't maintain itself," Quistis reminded her.

"Oh, I'm not complaining! It's been a lot of fun making cakes for all the events, and hosting workshops, and meeting so many new customers. Besides, I think I'm getting a little bit of muscle from all the mixing and lifting and stuff." She flexed her arm.

Quistis chuckled. "It's okay to admit to being tired, too. I know I am. Hopefully, though, if our business keeps up, I should be able to hire another full-time employee at the beginning of next year. That'll make things so much easier around here."

"Definitely." Emmy began melting chocolate as the cupcakes cooled. "What would you like for the Berry Spice today? Flourishes or butterflies?"

"Butterflies. We get more children on the weekend, and they seem to gravitate toward things they recognize."

"All right. Butterflies, coming up!"

As they stocked the display case, Quistis noticed that a thick fog still hung over the town. The wet cobblestones reflected what little of the streetlights broke through, and gave the outdoors a dreary atmosphere that made Qake feel warm and cozy by comparison. Quistis fought off a bout of drowsiness and joked about it with Emmy, then finished her preparations and opened the shop.

She had just flipped over the sign on the door and was heading back to the register, when the bell tinkled behind her. She tensed, her limbs going hot with adrenaline, and turned to see a man in a jacket and knit cap standing just inside the door, stamping the moisture from his boots onto the mat inside. Fears of a robbery flashed through her mind, and she suddenly wished she carried her knife in the pocket of her apron. As she was debating whether to retreat to the counter or confront the man, he pulled off his cap and gave her a sheepish grin.

His expression calmed her, and she took a moment to study him. He was good-looking, with dark hair and eyes, and features that were vaguely distinct from those common in Dollet. Realizing she was staring, Quistis cleared her throat and smiled.

"Good morning," she said.

"Good morning," he replied. "You _are _open, right?" He spoke with an accent that Quistis couldn't place, one more measured and open than that spoken in Dollet.

"Oh, yes! I'm sorry for the confusion. We're simply not used to having customers right away."

"Clearly." The man nodded toward the kitchen, where Emmy stood in the doorway, a white-knuckled grip on a rolling pin. She looked to Quistis for instruction, and at Quistis' nod, returned to the kitchen, but not before waggling her eyebrows mischievously.

"I'm sorry if I frightened you," the man went on. "Let me assure you that I do not make a habit of skulking around businesses, waiting for them to open." He smiled, and Quistis felt a warm fluttering in her chest. "I was simply out for a walk, and saw you flip the sign. I'm usually not even awake at this hour, but my body's still on Esthar time, apparently."

_Esthar_. That explained a lot.

"I've never met anyone from Esthar," Quistis said. "What brings you to Dollet?"

"Work. I've been hired as a researcher at the Dollet Natural History Museum. I specialize in lunarzoology."

"Lunarzoology. Lunar creatures … those that come down with the Lunar Cry, correct?"

"Yes." He looked surprised. "You're the first person I don't work with that I haven't had to clarify that for."

Quistis shrugged. "It was easy enough to understand. The Lunar Cry phenomenon is covered in basic education here in Dollet."

"But you remembered. Most people forget about things like that immediately, especially since it's been so long since it was relevant to them."

"What made you want to study this subject, if I may ask?" Why was she asking so many questions? Quistis silently chided herself for her nosiness, but justified it by the rarity of visitors from the other side of the world to her little bakery.

"Well …" he put his cap in his pocket. "Let's just say that, during the last war, Esthar developed some technology that made the study of lunar creatures extremely relevant to us again. That, and simple curiosity, on my part. I'm sure you've seen drawings of what these creatures looked like; they were things right out of my twelve-year-old imagination. How could I _not _want to find out more about them?"

Quistis laughed. "Inspiration comes from unlikely sources, I suppose."

"Definitely. Take yourself, for another instance. I'm assuming you're the baker here, so what made you want to bake?"

Quistis felt her cheeks grow warm. She hadn't expected a question in return. Usually, customers were just happy to be listened to. They talked, bought, and left. For the past three years, that had been the natural order of Quistis' world, and this man's disruption of that pattern was jarring.

"I … I guess I just had a knack for it."

"A knack." He looked around the bakery, then walked to the display case. Quistis went behind the counter and watched him study the cupcake selections. "No, this isn't just a 'knack.' You enjoy it, don't you?"

"Yes. I … well, I love it. Ugh, that sounds so dramatic. I'm sorry."

"There's nothing to apologize for. Why would you apologize for loving what you do?"

Quistis thought about his question for a moment, then, deciding she was under no obligation to satisfy a stranger's curiosity, she straightened and tried to reclaim a shred of professionalism. "Will you be making a purchase this morning, or are you just here to kill time until you get tired?"

He raised his eyebrows at her sudden change in tone, then relaxed and read the menu. "I'll take a cupcake and a coffee, please."

"All right. Which flavor?"

"Which do you recommend?"

She stared at him, and he grinned. Perhaps it was a cultural difference. Maybe Estharians asked each other questions all the time, even in the simplest situations. They were said to be intelligent and innovative on average; maybe this is how they became that way. If that was the case, Quistis wondered whether it might be disrespectful to not indulge his inquisitiveness.

"Out of today's offerings, I wouldlike to suggest the Berry Spice, but –"

"But what?"

She pointed to the Berry Spice cupcake. "It has pink frosting and a chocolate butterfly."

"So?"

It was Quistis' turn to smile. "It's usually not very popular with my male customers."

"It's just a cupcake. My identity isn't so fragile as to be upended by a _cupcake_. Besides, it looks delicious."

"Trust me, it_ is_ delicious." Quistis blinked, uncertain where that burst of confidence had come from. "For here, or to go?"

"For here," he said, then awkwardly extended his hand above the display case. "I'm Argider, by the way."

Quistis shook his hand and introduced herself.

He repeated her name, then glanced at the menu again. "So, that's where it comes from."

"What?"

"The name of the bakery. Clever."

"Narcissistic."

"Proud. I think that's a fair middle ground, right?"

"I suppose it is." She handed him his cupcake, and he took a seat at the table nearest the counter. When she came around with his coffee, he tried the cupcake and immediately complimented her on it. She laughed and thanked him, and they settled into a conversation, trading questions about each other, their respective homelands, and their chosen careers. Argider spoke at length about his research and the position he'd been hired for, his eyes bright with excitement, then caught himself.

"I'm so sorry," he said. "This must be incredibly boring to you."

"Not at all. It's a nice change of pace from what my other customers talk about. And I understand how easy it is to get carried away about something you enjoy; I could go on and on about baking."

"I'd ask you to, but I'm afraid I've monopolized quite a bit of your time already."

Quistis looked around the empty bakery. "Don't worry, there isn't that much to do right now. Until more customers come in, I'd be happy to –" She stopped short as movement outside the window caught her eye. Rinoa had arrived, and was fumbling to secure Angelo's leash to the wrought-iron planter by the door. Why was she here so early on a Saturday?

Argider glanced out the window, then back to Quistis. "You were saying?"

"I'm sorry. I guess my ode to baking will have to wait."

He laughed. "And I guess I'd better be going, and let you get back to work." They both rose from the table. "Thanks for the welcome, and the cupcake. It really was delicious. You just got yourself another regular customer."

"Thank you. I'm very glad you enjoyed it." She paused and bit her lip, hesitant to let him go, even with Rinoa right outside. "And if you have any more questions about Dollet," she continued, "don't hesitate to ask. I might not always know the answer, but I can direct you to someone who can help. And I'd be more than happy to recommend businesses or points of interest."

"I'd like that. I'll definitely take you up on your offer. Have a nice day, Quistis." He walked away slowly, glancing over his shoulder with a smile, then exited Qake, holding the door open for Rinoa and greeting her in passing.

Rinoa watched him walk down the block, then scurried to Quistis, her eyes wide and a silly grin on her lips. "Who was _that_?" she asked. "He's dreamy!"

"A new customer," Quistis said, trying to act nonchalant and failing. "He just moved here from Esthar for work."

"Ooh. So, do I get any more details?"

"No."

"You're no fun."

"I can tell you more," Emmy piped up, coming out of the kitchen wearing an impish smile. Upon catching Quistis' glare, however, she sobered and shook her head. "But out of loyalty to my employer, I will remain silent on the matter."

"Neither of you are any fun. Whatever. I'll bet Quistis will be talking soon enough, though, because from what I saw, that guy seemed to like more than just the cupcakes here."

Quistis felt the color rise in her cheeks, but said nothing and busied herself with clearing the table. Rinoa chuckled and moved to the display case.

"So," she said, "what's today's special?"

"Triple chocolate with caramel drizzle," Quistis answered, eager to change the subject.

"Sounds decadent. I'll take two, and a large coffee. I'm gonna need the energy. Watts called out sick, and Rosalie can't come in until the afternoon, so it's Rinoa to the rescue, today."

"Who are you rescuing? It's your own shop." Quistis joined Emmy behind the counter.

"Myself. You've done the same thing, plenty of times. We just don't get recognition for it." She sighed, then leaned over the counter. "Anyway, correct me if I'm wrong, but Saturday is Pupcake Day, isn't it?"

"It is. And today's flavor is peanut butter and banana."

"That's Angelo's favorite!" Rinoa turned toward the window and repeated the flavor of the treat, then launched into a litany of baby talk and pet names. Angelo, unable to hear her through the glass, nonetheless caught her enthusiasm, and stood on her hind legs to paw at the window. An elderly man walking past waved to Rinoa as well, before realizing that Angelo was the intended recipient of her attention. Embarrassed, he winced, hunched his shoulders, and slunk away.

Quistis and Emmy laughed. Rinoa pretended not to notice.

"Look," she said to Quistis. "Look at how happy Angelo is, how happy you make her! This is because of you – well, technically, it's because of _me_, for bugging you to make pupcakes, but I'll let you have half the credit."

"Your generosity humbles me," Quistis deadpanned, before they all broke into another round of laughter. Rinoa took her cupcakes and coffee and left, raising Angelo's paw to wave at Quistis through the window before heading to the bookstore. Quistis assumed her usual post at the register, and Emmy at the coffee urn, as the morning crowd began to trickle in. The first rays of sun broke through the fog, enveloping the town in a golden glow. A new day was starting, and it was time to begin again.

_Begin again_. Less than a year ago, those words were laced with drudgery and uncertainty, a defiant response to the challenges that seemed to build upon each other. Now, however, they took on a different tone in Quistis' mind, one of hope and contentment, and spoke of the opportunity to make this day better than those that had come before it. They spoke of the resilience to weather setbacks, and the confidence to forge ahead. And, just like the daybreak she witnessed every morning from her shop, she now moved forward without fear.

Darkness is fleeting, she realized, and with the return of the light, we begin again.

🍰 **The End **🍰

* * *

**Author's Note: **Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed this story.


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